Nightfall
by IBidYouAdieu
Summary: Ten and Martha encounter a terrifying beast in 1940s Mississippi, where they join a band of brave men on the hunt to stop it before it carries out a deadly mission. When The Doctor suffers the mark of the beast, can Martha save him? Ten/Martha.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** Only my second _Doctor Who_ fic. Set some time after "Family of Blood", but before "Blink". AU, because "Blink" and the following adventures of Martha and The Doctor will change slightly as result of what I'm going to do to their relationship. Also AU because I'm giving a different spin on the Lupine Wavelength-Haemovariform The Doctor and Rose encountered in "Tooth and Claw". It's kind of based on a combination of that and the Werelok in a _Doctor Who_ comic I read about, plus other werewolf plots throughout the _Who_ universe. But it'll be the first time The Doctor, in his Tenth incarnation, will encounter it.

Does that make sense? Hope so! The simple answer is that it's just for fun on my part. I got the idea for this because I was listening to the blues singer Howlin' Wolf. I can't really explain it beyond that – I just started writing and this is what came out! Hope you like it. Please review, and tell me what you think! I own nothing, by the way.

* * *

_**Nightfall**_

A _Doctor Who_ fanfic by kendrawriter

I.

"Alright then, Martha Jones! You know what to do." The Doctor clapped his hands once and rubbed them together excitedly, leaning forward to squint at the monitor attached to the control console of his beloved time machine/space ship, the TARDIS. He blew air through his pursed lips and poised his fingers over the control panel below the monitor. "Gimme a number – any number – between one and one hundred."

Martha grinned, used to this game by now. "Em…four."

"Four!" The Doctor punched in the coordinates on the control panel. He pointed at her, not looking up from what he was doing. "Another!"

"Twenty eight?"

"Yah…" he punched that in, and made a spinning gesture with the finger he was still pointing at her. "Hit me baby, one more time?" He said the lyric to the pre-mental Britney Spears song like he was asking Martha to pass the pudding.

Martha pretended to think about it. He glanced up at her, one eyebrow raised, as she held off giving her answer. Their eyes met. Martha wasn't exactly _trying_ to be cheeky, but she sometimes couldn't help herself. It was her odd little habit these days traveling with The Doctor – nearing the end of their fifth month together – since she had long since given up hope that he would ever, ever acknowledge that she was in love with him. Or reciprocate.

It wasn't exactly his fault. She had worked hard before they left 1913 to assure him she would've said anything to get him to change back into a Time Lord. And she _would_ have – it just so happened that what she said was the truth. Still, he took her at her word and they never mentioned it again. Now, Martha didn't know if it was out of resentment or heartbreak (perhaps both) but she sometimes found slyly flirting with him to make him uncomfortable strangely…cathartic.

So he looked at her, and she didn't try to disguise the coy gleam in her eyes as she leaned forward across the console. She bit her lip. "Hmm…how about…sixty nine?"

"Sixty nine it is, then." He tore his gaze away from hers and resumed squinting at the monitor as he punched in the coordinates, either totally oblivious or choosing to ignore her attempt at a dirty joke. Then did a gleeful face. "Ooh!"

"Where to this time?" Martha sighed and resolved to dive into their next adventure, shoving aside her frustration with his aloofness.

She wouldn't give up traveling with him for the world, she knew. But, she had to admit, it was painful sometimes, the rejection. When they stayed busy, running or fighting or getting into things on strange planets and in strange times, she was fine. It was only these in-between times – these alone times with no one but them in the TARDIS – when it got hard for Martha to ignore her feelings of longing. For his part, The Doctor carried on as if they were merely roommates on an extended road trip. Which was exactly what they were, but Martha couldn't escape her hope that one day they could be more. A part of her very well knew they probably never would, but then he would say or do something that would ignite that hope again within her. She was starting to resent that hope, even as she clung to it.

"It's a surprise!" The Doctor sang, dashing about madly as usual, adjusting controls here and there. He shooed her out of the way to ratchet up a lever that she'd been toying with absentmindedly. "But I'll give you a hint: it's Earth. Not your time, though. Okay, twentieth century, but that's all I'm telling you! Except I think you're really going to like it. Haven't been to these particular coordinates in…ooh…" he sucked in a breath, pausing to think about that. Martha smiled in amusement as he ran a hand through his disheveled hair. "Blimey, well, _never_, actually. Can't have that, can we? _Anything_ could be happening!"

He unleashed a full-blown grin on her, which caused her heart to flutter as it always did, and released the hand break.

The TARDIS took off through the Vortex. They were jostled and thrown about a bit as the sentient machine jetted on a bumpy course towards their destination. Martha held on tight and the Doctor called out "_Allons-y!_" His boyish enthusiasm was infectious, even through the turbulence, and she laughed.

"_Allons-y_!" she echoed, and they clasped hands over the console.

When they landed, The Doctor powered down the engine and secured the break.

"Hang on, but we've been to Earth in the twentieth century loads of times," Martha complained, crossing her arms. He poked his head from around the monitor to raise his eyebrows at her.

"Only twice, actually. And _you_ picked the coordinates, remember?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

She turned to walk towards the doors, feeling that familiar sense of mounting anticipation running through her. It didn't matter where or when they landed. Stepping out of the TARDIS was like no other experience in the world. For those few seconds as The Doctor unlocked the doors, Martha always found herself filled to the brim with fear and excitement, and even a little high on the thrill of the unknown. After five months of traveling (well, technically two and a half were spent stuck in 1913 waiting for The Family of Blood to die), it never got old.

He was behind her suddenly, standing close. His proximity made her swallow and restrain herself from turning to look up into his eyes. She felt him lean closer, and then he was standing on his tiptoes, peering over her head out through the TARDIS' small windows. His long, billowy coat almost swallowed her whole. Martha didn't complain. "Hm."

"What?"

"Pitch black out there." He stepped to the side, lowering himself flat on his feet again, and grinned down at her. "After me!"

The Doctor unlocked the doors and pushed them both open wide like an explorer shoving open the entrance to a tomb of treasures. He stood in the doorway, peering out into the darkness. Martha's eyes adjusted and she could make out trees. They were surrounded by trees. "A forest?"

"So it would seem…" The Doctor muttered, stepping out of the TARDIS. Martha followed closely, closing the doors behind her. The absence of light from the console room made her wish she had remembered to grab a torch. She had a mind to go back for one, but The Doctor was already striding forward confidently.

"But where is…?" He paused in his stride and Martha bumped right into him.

"_Oi!_" She grunted, grabbing his arm to steady herself. The ground here felt as though it was sloping downward.

"Shh!" The Doctor held a finger up. "Listen…"

Martha listened. She heard water rushing along somewhere nearby. It didn't sound powerful enough to be a river, but it definitely wasn't a lake. A tributary, probably. "Where are we?" she demanded in a whisper.

"Well, if I landed the TARDIS properly, we should be somewhere near the – _Martha?_"

She had lost her footing in an instant, and found herself sliding on her bum down a bumpy little hill. She clawed at the earth for an upturned tree root or something to halt herself but she only managed to collect fistfuls of mud and grass. Then, in about eight seconds, Martha was sitting up to her hips in water. "Ohhh, I'm gonna _murder_ you!"

"…the Tibbee Creek." The Doctor finished feebly from above her.

"Help me out of this!"

"Right. Coming. Sorry."

Martha looked up at the sky. It was full of clouds, obscuring the stars and moon. She could barely see her hand in front of her face. She heard the Doctor gingerly making his way down to her. She stood up slowly, her shoes sinking into muddy earth below the water surface. She cursed under her breath. Then a slender hand, barely visible in the dark, appeared near her head. The Doctor wiggled his fingers at her. "Up you get."

She rolled her eyes and took hold of his hand, turning to hoist her self back up the little hill. The water, since she was standing, only came up to just above her ankles. She was on the bank of the steadily flowing creek, and from here the rushing water sound was more pronounced.

Her jeans were completely soaked and soggy with mud. Martha chewed down on her annoyance as she tried to climb back up the steep bank with The Doctor's help.

Of course, he shifted his weight wrong and slipped himself, plunging them both back into the murky water.

"Oh, this is just _lovely_!"

"My coat!" The Doctor moaned, observing his now mud-stained coat in the inky darkness. "Janis Joplin gave me this coat…and awww my Chucks! My _red_ ones, these are my favorites…!"

Martha chucked a wad of muddy grass at him. Then she giggled.

"Right."

"Oh no, you don't--!"

Too late. The Doctor seized her and began dragging her towards him in the sludgy earth. Martha yelped and twisted her body to get away from him but he was strong for such a skinny bloke. He pulled her to him, dodging her attacks, until she found herself pressed in his arms, bracing her hands against his chest. She breathed in, and smelled his spicy aftershave even over the reedy creek smell. It was a heady scent, especially when it mingled with his natural smell. Martha could never quite place it, sometimes it reminded her of different things. Pleasant things. Vanilla or popcorn or a warm summer day or her father's leather jacket…

"Give up, or I can't be held responsible for the consequences, Jones," he muttered, his face inches from hers. Martha was sure he could feel her heart beating in time with his under her palms. She was sure he must've realized how his closeness was affecting her. Didn't he? He smiled lopsidedly; innocently; oblivious.

Then he put mud in her hair. Martha's jaw dropped, and she reached down, grabbing a giant wad of boggy earth and squashing it into his tie. "Fat chance!"

Muck and creek water began to fly as they began to chuck it at one another. Martha squealed as the stuff flew at her and growled when The Doctor effortlessly dodged her attacks. When a big clomp of marshy goo landed square in the middle of her chest and began trickling slimily down between her breasts, Martha threatened to push him full body into the creek.

"Truce!" He called, and they sagged into the hilly bank on their backs, both breathing hard from the exertion.

Martha stared up at the black, cloudy sky. She thought she could make out little snatches of moonlight, hidden behind an endless precession of giant, inky clouds. "So, what exactly am I supposed to 'really like' about this, then?"

"Oh, the music!" The Doctor exclaimed, as if he had only just remembered. He turned to lay on his side, propping his elbow under his chin. She could hardly make him out, but she could tell that he was grinning. She turned to give him an incredulous look.

"What music? So far we've only managed to have a mud ball fight."

"Oh, well, yeah that wasn't part of the plan. Though it _was_ fun, eh? Oh but the _music_, Martha! During this time, some of the best music of the century originated here. Legends! Ohh, I've always wanted to see the start of it all. Muddy Waters – no pun intended – Son House, Lovely Lucille, though she died before things really took off…"

"Wait, where and when _are_ we exactly?" Martha recognized those names. Growing up with her parents, who played ancient blues records and early rock and roll all through her youth, she had come to know these names very well. She suddenly got a very bad feeling.

"1940s Mississppi, of course. Well – White Station, to be exact. Hmmm…'38 or '39, I think. They're just getting the first good breath of fresh air after being stifled by The Great Depression for nearly a decade. And _this_ is when the music _really_ starts catching fire, Martha. Oh, you'll _love_ it – what?"

Her feeling confirmed, Martha stared at the dark outline of The Doctor's face. "You've _got_ to be joshin' me…"

"Quite serious." Suddenly the clouds parted from obscuring the moon and she could see that he was giving her a face to prove that he was, in fact, serious.

"Doctor…look at me. _Really look at me_. Do you foresee a problem, here?"

"I _am_ really looking at you, Martha Jones, and you've got mud on your face." He grinned. She glowered.

"Aside from the mud, Doctor. Me? In 1940s Mississippi?"

He frowned at her, totally missing her point. And then: "Oh. Riiiight…"

"Back to the TARDIS, then, yeah?"

"Hang on – since when did you care about that? It never stopped you before."

"I spent almost three months in 1913 scrubbing up after you and a whole town full of people who made it a point everyday to remind me of my 'place', remember? Don't think I'm quite ready to dive back into that just yet, thanks."

He looked at her for a long time, a shadow in his eyes. She could tell that he was thinking back to that time. She wondered if he was also thinking about what she had confessed in that time's darkest hour. Then he sighed. "Back to the TARDIS, then."

He sat up and got to his feet, then leaned over to help her up. She allowed him to pull her to her feet and looked up into his face. All traces of amusement were gone. She couldn't tell if he was disappointed or remorseful or what. She was now regretting what she'd said. Maybe she should tell him she was just kidding?

The moonlight was very bright now. She turned once more to look up at the sky. It was a full moon. It was beautiful, and very large. She didn't recall ever seeing one so big and luminous. For a shadow of a moment, she thought back to the very first time she met The Doctor; the Judoon platoon on the moon. His words. He was so cute and charming…even in a crisis. She was on the point of telling him never mind about going back to the TARDIS, when:

"Martha, don't move."

Suddenly he was standing in front of her, shielding her. His body was tense in a certain way, and it made Martha go rigid with fear in response.

"What is it?" she whispered.

He was gazing vigilantly across the creek, at the bank on the other side. Martha scanned the landscape, and then her eyes caught site of something that almost stopped her heart.

There, perched on the bank directly across the rushing waters of the creek, its eyes shining silvery white in the shadows, was an enormous black wolf.


	2. Chapter 2

II.

"What do we do?" Martha hissed in his ear, causing him to wince.

The Doctor's gaze remained trained on the wolf, which was hunched down on its flanks, jaws peeled back to reveal its gleaming, deadly fangs. It was about four long meters from the edge of the creek where they stood to where the wolf was perched just out of the brush clearing on the other side.

But even across that distance, The Doctor could see the animal's muscles were coiling to spring. It was more than just an abnormally large wolf. The Doctor knew instantly, with equal parts sinking dread and extreme curiosity, exactly what it was.

Sort of. There were many different things it could be. His problem was that there were too many possible answers, not to few. But the most important question was:_ how did it end up __**here?**_

"Back up," he murmured, his lips barely moving, "and when I say…_run_. Back to the TARDIS. As fast as you can."

"But can it swim fast eno-?"

"Martha, do as I say." He insisted. "Go. Now!"

He felt a rush of moving air behind him as Martha turned to scramble up the bank. He silently prayed that she would make it up to solid ground fast enough, but even as he did the beast was leaping towards them. The Doctor turned on his heel, jumped up and landed on one foot atop a jutting tree root. He scooped Martha's hand up in his and yanked her away up the little hill, drilling mud and grass under their feet as they ran.

He didn't hear the beast hit the water, and even as that made The Doctor's hearts seize, he made a mental note of it.

_Heightened strength, jumped clean over a three- meter creek with little effort, check._

Any bit of information might help him work out just what they were dealing with…

Martha screamed.

…if they survived this.

The dreadful sounds of snarling and heavy paws on earth were _right behind them_.

_Hyper-accelerated speed, as well. Got it._

They ran back the way they came, the lights from the TARDIS windows shining wanly under the intense moonlight.

The Doctor knew it was too late. They wouldn't reach the safety of the TARDIS. He clamped down on Martha's hand and wheeled her around, pushing her against a tree. Then he whipped around, his coat fanning out like a cape, and threw himself in front of her, shielding her again. The wolf had leapt up and its huge jaw had been inches away from clamping down ferociously onto Martha's shoulder before The Doctor managed to snatch her away.

"Stop!" yelled The Doctor, thrusting a staying hand outward toward it.

Martha was trembling violently behind him. He pressed himself closer to her, as a sign that everything would be all right. He could tell she wanted to keep running but he also knew that she would throw _herself_ in front of the beast is she could, but he held her firmly in place, standing between her and the wolf. The animal came to a thundering halt, it's large eyes flickering silvery white under the moonlight.

_Shows signs of intelligence…that's good._

The wolf stood up on its hind legs, and it was easily eight feet tall, a terrifying mass of black fur and trembling muscle. It reared its head back and howled. Martha clamped her hands over her ears as the deafening sound reverberated into the night. When it looked down to glare at them again, The Doctor shook his head slowly at it, his eyes trained on those silvery orbs forbiddingly.

"If you want her, you'll have to go through me…" Martha let out a sound that asked him if he had lost his marbles. He ignored her, staring the beast down.

The thing hunched forward, growling deep within its throat, it's huge jaw dripping with saliva. It looked into The Doctor's eyes, and he saw what he needed. Fear. Oh, savagery, bloodlust, and cold fury to be sure – but he also saw a flicker of fear there.

And yes, there was also definitely intelligence. Just barely there, hidden in a labyrinth of animal instinct. If this thing could speak, The Doctor knew it would be asking _who are you?_

"I'm The Doctor. I can help you."

It snapped its jaws at them. Crouched lower in the soggy earth, its massive hind paws digging in while its front claws clenched – ready to attack.

"You're afraid…" The Doctor kept trying, his hand still outstretched. "You can't control this. But I can help you, if you let me."

The animal snarled at him.

"Otherwise…" The Doctor continued, his voice low and stony. "I can't be held responsible for the consequences."

As he said this, he observed that the wolf was wearing clothes. Or what was left of them. A filthy brown shirt, shredded to rags, and dark brown trousers, also ripped almost beyond recognition. There was blood splattered across the fabric, mixed in with mud and grass. Blood was also trailing along one side of its jaw.

The Doctor realized with fury that he and Martha were not to be its first kill tonight. "Doctor!" Martha whispered. "Someone's coming…they'll be killed!"

Both The Doctor and the wolf reacted as the sounds of running footsteps were suddenly drawing near, and then he could see torch lights weaving and swaying somewhere ahead of them in the trees. "Here!" a deep voice shouted. "I heard it comin' from over here, Mister John!"

The wolf swung its massive head back around to The Doctor again, and he opened his mouth to plead for the lives of the men approaching. Before he could speak, however, the thing turned and bounded back where it came from, towards the creek. He watched its progress, transfixed, as it leapt off the bank and soared over the creek effortlessly, landing on all fours on the other side. Under a slither of cloud cover, it was gone.

Then the brush parted and about a dozen men surrounded them, torches and guns raised. "Hold up, don't you _move_ goddamnit!" Someone bellowed.

The Doctor shielded his eyes from the torch lights. "We're unarmed!"

"Explain yaself, Jack…" the voice demanded. "What you doin' back here in these woods, huh? Don't you know there's a goddamn _demon_ on the loose out here? You gon' get yaself _killed_, an' us wit you!"

"I _said_ we're unarmed!" The Doctor insisted through clenched teeth, still shielding his eyes. "Please, lower your weapons, there's no need for them."

"Huh." Grunted the voice. "There's where you dead wrong, Jack. You and ya lady there oughta thank Jesus it was _us_ come outta them trees and not the thing we're huntin'. Else you'd be in pieces, like a few others dumb enough to wander near this creek 'unarmed'."

"You're _hunting_ it?" The Doctor demanded, his free hand clenching to a fist. "To kill it."

That last bit wasn't a question. Humans. Of course they were afraid, but then so was that 'thing' they planned to gun down.

Finally, the men lowered their torches and guns, and the owner of the voice stepped forward. He was a tall black man, slender but muscular, with eyes that were shining with commanding authority. He sauntered up to The Doctor and Martha with a pistol in his hand (though not aimed at them), observing them shrewdly, looking them up and down.

"That's right. Who are you? What you doin' back here?"

The Doctor stepped up to him, sliding his hands into his damp, mud-spattered trouser pockets, and smiled. "Hello! I'm The Doctor. This is my companion Martha Jones – Martha say hello to…" he raised an eyebrow at the man. "Sorry, didn't catch your name?"

"I'm Mister John Grey. Folks call me Mister John. I owns the gist house, and these here is my woods. What you doin' in 'em?"

"Oh, well…we were just passing through, thought we'd go for a nice refreshing dip in the…" The Doctor rubbed his earlobe, uncomfortably, "…creek."

"A dip, huh?" Mister John's eyes slid over to Martha, who stepped away from the tree to stand next to The Doctor.

He raised his torch and got a better a look at the state of them both. They were splattered in mud from the sludgy banks of the creek, their clothes progressively soaked from the torso down. And their clothes were kind of…odd after a fashion. John couldn't quite put his finger on it. He just couldn't place the breeches the woman was wearing, or the blouse that really wasn't no blouse, it looked like a piece of flimsy cloth strung around her curvy frame as an afterthought. She was wearing a jacket – leather and dyed all dark red – but that didn't stop John from observing that her bosoms were only tamed by what looked like black lace visible through her wet, mud-stained top.

"Hiya…" she muttered pointedly, drawing his attention back up to her eyes. She gave John a little wave and a tight smile.

Then the lanky white man – the doctor – inched closer to her and met John's gaze. His expression remained benign, but his eyes flickered with a wary gleam for just a second.

John got an odd vibe from the pair of them. Not just from the clothes, either. And not just because they spoke with accents he had had never heard before. Well…he reached back into the recesses of his memories, and found one source of comparison…a traveling professor who liked to hang around the fancy drinking establishment in town where the white folks got their kicks. John's daddy was a coachman back then and he sometimes let John ride with him when he took the drunken patrons home nights.

Professor Thornton, he was called. He had the same kind of accent as these two, and he used to put his arm around John and tell him stories about places and people with strange names and even stranger customs.

No other white folk ever even _looked_ at John, unless it was to bark an order or say something cruel, let alone got that close to him before. Like he was equal. Like his dark skin didn't matter a little bit.

The professor had a servant, too; she was a mute girl with uncommon features and skin darker than any from around these parts, even with the harsh sun that came out summers. His father told him she was from Africa, and she didn't speak because she didn't know any English. John only saw a glimpse of her a couple of times, but one time in particular stayed with him.

It was when the professor was really swimming in it; real _dirty_ drunk, hardly able to string two words together or breath normal and falling asleep for pockets of time as they made their way to the lodge house where he stayed.

That girl came out of that house after the professor with this _look_ in her eyes, and she clung to that white man and helped him inside without so much as a glance or a thank you to John and his daddy. She only had eyes for the professor.

John thought it was strange – she was his servant, what kind of life must that be, taken from your home and forced to serve a man as he hopped here and there and everywhere, unable to speak the language? But she looked at him like her whole heart and body was tied up in him; like that drunk old white man was her world.

His daddy told him some things just don't bear explaining – they just _is._ And ain't nothing for you to do except let them be.

This Martha woman was looking at this doctor fella just the same way when he was talking to John and the boys before they lowered their guns. Like she couldn't bear any harm coming to him. And the look in the man's eyes just now as he stepped closer to her suggested to John that he was just as protective, though it didn't quite match what she gave. He probably thought of this girl as his possession; something not to be handled by anybody other than him. That was the way of the world that John knew, why shouldn't it be wherever these two come from?

John shook off his thoughts, and observed their muddy clothes, took in their distant accents, and came to the conclusion that they were fool travelers from nowhere near here in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"You usually go dippin' wit all ya clothes on, Doctor?"

"Oh yes! Well – sometimes. When the _mood_ strikes." He elongated the 'ooh' in 'mood' and rolled the 'r' in 'strikes' like his tongue had wheels on it.

This doctor's attitude was starting to bug John. It was very confident, but very cordial – something he wasn't strictly used to with the white folk in this town. He reminded John a lot of the professor, which made him want to trust the man, but in times like these he didn't like anything that had him letting his guard down. Behind him, the boys shifted on their feet, anxious to get back to hunting down the thing that killed Percy.

"Anyway, we just had the pleasure of running into…theeeee…" The Doctor leaned his forehead forward, eyebrows raised, as if trying to remember what John had called the beast a moment ago.

"The demon? You seen it? Where?"

"What makes you think it's a demon?" The Doctor man asked, his manner becoming very serious very quickly.

John considered him for a moment. He took another glance at the woman. She looked shaken up damn good, though she was putting on a pretty mighty show of not letting anyone see it. This doctor however – his manner had shifted in an instant, and he now looked just like John felt. Determined. Angry – righteously so. And perhaps not as fool as John initially thought.

"Because, Doctor…" John uttered. "I ain't never seen no creature like that thing in my life. It ain't natural. And if you saw what it did to my friend…you'd agree the only place it _coulda_ come from is hell."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"This here is Walter Fletcher, we call 'im Fletch. That's Louis Blue over there. And this is Lenny, Buster, and Earl Wilkes, all brothers."

"We ain't twins, though." Buster was quick to supply. "Same mamma, different daddies."

Then Lenny, Buster, and Earl grunted and spit at the same time. "Ah, I see the resemblance." Martha muttered.

The Doctor stood with his hands in his pockets, nodding in greeting as Mister John introduced him and Martha to the other men crowded around them. He kept his manner open and cordial, but he didn't smile.

Their guns put him off, firstly. Secondly, he didn't much like the way John (and the rest of them, in turns) had looked at Martha.

Sometimes he wanted to try talking her into dressing for whatever time period on Earth they found themselves in before they stepped out of the TARDIS. The key concern there being varying conventions of modesty. They'd gone to 17th century Edinburgh once, and Martha had been arrested for wearing 'pantaloons' (her jeans), which were illegal at the time. But The Doctor knew that was a rubbish idea and that she'd be offended – rightly so. Besides which, their ordeal in 1913 had surely put her off period garb for a while yet.

Ah, but then things like this Mister John and his mates appraising her like she was a juicy piece of steak happened, and it tugged at The Doctor's temper.

He couldn't help it when he saw John staring at Martha's chest – he stepped closer to her and gave the man what he hoped was a look that properly expressed what he couldn't say: _get out of it, you._

He also hoped that Martha hadn't noticed. He knew she was perfectly capable of taking care of herself, but sometimes he could not help feeling an urge to wrap his arm around her and pull her to him so that whomever they were talking to at the time would understand something critical from the off – The Doctor would not lose Martha Jones. Any threat to her was a threat they couldn't afford to make.

So – it was that little quandary, coupled with his aversion to the guns all around him, plus the nagging question of the thing that had nearly snapped Martha clean in two five minutes ago – all currently affecting his mood.

There was no question it was an unlucky host to a nasty lycanthropic transmutation – but how in bloody hell _that_ ended up in _this_ region was beyond him. There were no time rifts hanging about in 1940s Mississippi –none that he recalled, anyway. But then, he hadn't been to these exact coordinates before. He had landed all around within the twenty or thirty years before or after plenty of times, but not _here_.

Not White Station Mississippi, near the Tibbee Creek, on Thursday, May 27th at eleven thirty two p.m.

Martha seemed to sense that he was working something out, because she took up the slack for him, engaging in conversation with the men, explaining the attack.

"We saw it across the creek," Martha explained. "Then it just attacked. We ran for it, but it got the drop on us fast – and then The Doctor…" she trailed off, glancing his way. "Actually, I'm not really sure _what_ The Doctor did."

The Doctor woke from his deep thoughts and nodded that he would take over. "Oh, I just…sort of…stalled it, that's all."

Mister John raised an eyebrow at him. "You _stalled_ it?"

"Yeahhh, well, had to do something didn't I? It almost got Martha's head." The Doctor noticed Martha shiver out of the corner of his eye. He continued, "Then you chaps arrived and off it ran."

"That's bologna, Jack!" Earl muttered. "Ain't no _'stallin'_ this thang we chasin'. Naw sir, no stallin' at all."

"What makes you say so?" The Doctor asked, eyeing Earl inquiringly.

Earl had a way about him – his shoulders were perpetually hunched and he hid his eyes under his cap. His manner was totally unlike Mister John's. When he spoke just now, he did so cautiously, as if the very thought of speaking out of turn made him uneasy. He was clearly the youngest of his brothers, perhaps in his early twenties or late teens. Now, he adjusted his gun in his hands and shifted on his feet.

"You didn't see what it did to Percy, that's what."

The Doctor nodded solemnly. "I'm very sorry about that. Was Percy your friend?"

"Percy was a friend to us all," Mister John replied. "He was a good boy – wouldn't pull the wings off a fly. Got himself cornered by that thing and…"

All the men shifted on their feet uneasily, looking sad and angry about what happened to their friend Percy. The Doctor was angry as well – but not for reasons any of them could understand.

Mister John sighed. "That's why we need to git after it. Can't waste more time standin' round here flappin' our gums. I suggest you and your companion here git on back to where ya wondered away from and lock all ya doors, Doctor."

"If I may," The Doctor stepped forward as Mister John was giving Martha a curt nod of farewell. "I'd like to come with you. I could be of some help."

Mister John – tall and brawny and somber, with flecks of silvery white hairs sprinkling his stubble and the corners of his hairline – frowned at The Doctor. "Females and unarmed doctors ain't got no place on a hunt like this." He grunted.

The Doctor reached deep into his inner coat pocket and pulled out a thin, black billfold. He opened it and flashed the psychic paper at Mister John. "With all do respect, it seems to me that none of you know what you're dealing with. I don't want to see anyone else hurt. Trust me. I can help."

"Ahem." The Doctor turned and saw Martha glaring at him.

He smiled sheepishly at her and turned back to Mister John, clearing his throat. "And Martha can handle herself just fine, as well. She's assisted me on all of my expeditions – she knows what she's doing."

The men all eyed them both suspiciously. He waited. Martha crossed her arms and did the same. Then Walter, a rather round fellow with butterscotch skin who wore suspenders, a bowtie and glasses, shrugged at Mister John. "They might as well, John. We need more eyes and ears."

"Good man!" The Doctor beamed at him enthusiastically. "I _like_ you, Walter Fletcher!"

"Er, mightily obliged, Doctor…?" Walter squinted at him through his thick, wire-framed spectacles.

"Just The Doctor." He turned back to Mister John, who looked annoyed with Walter. But having seen documentation that told him The Doctor was a wildlife specialist and tracker, he was beginning to rethink his position. The man definitely reminded him of the professor. "Now, I suggest we get a move on, because the creature you're looking for is very fast and very strong. Possibly very clever as well. We could lose the moonlight to cloud cover any moment. And something tells me once that happens – well it won't be _good_."

Mister John appraised him for a moment, then jerked his head in the direction of the creek. "Lead the way, Doctor."


	3. Chapter 3

III.

The men let Martha and The Doctor through to the front and they began to lead the way down towards the Tibbee Creek.

Martha walked close along side the Doctor and whispered: "Tell me you have a plan?"

"None at all." He smiled and winked at her. The look in her eyes made him add: "Trust me, Martha."

She nodded and took a deep breath, stepping up her pace to keep up with his lanky stride as the six men with guns followed vigilantly behind. She glanced around as they neared the spot where she'd lost her footing and went sliding down the little hill – and caught one of the men staring at her bum.

She cleared her throat and his eyes snapped back up to meet hers. He only smiled coolly, shrugging with his rifle. As if to say, _what d'you expect with that fine thing out for everyone to see?_

He had a tooth pick dangling from his lips. He was one of the brothers, Buster or Lester or something like that. If it weren't so dark, she was sure he would've seen her blush furiously – which would no doubt make his cool smile even wider and more lascivious than it was now.

"Keep them big eyes of yours _peeled on them trees_, Lenny." Mister John ordered in a harsh whisper.

Lenny, that was his name. He obeyed immediately; the flirty expression disappearing from his face and his eyes snapping away from Martha's to scrutinize the landscape surrounding them. Still, she could see that he didn't look happy about being called out in front of her.

Martha turned and took The Doctor's arm, even though he had both hands in his pockets. She was wet and starting to shiver, and she felt very uncomfortable surrounded by these armed men. Not to mention that there was an enormous wolf beast roaming about in the dark, waiting to pounce and slaughter them all any second. She usually didn't feel quite so vulnerable – she wasn't a baby. But still, she preferred at this particular time to stick close to The Doctor.

He glanced down at her as she slid her arm in the narrow space between his arm and his side. When she got it in, she hooked their arms together and walked sort of hanging off him in the dark. He supported her without question, but he wasn't exactly moving at a leisurely pace, so she had to concentrate to keep up.

Still, she couldn't help feeling as if the eyes of all the other men were on her and The Doctor, but only for a moment.

If they had some kind of impression by what they saw, they quickly put it aside. They had more important things to concern themselves with just now.

So did Martha. As always with The Doctor, she had questions.

"That was no ordinary wolf, was it?" she asked, keeping her voice low so the others couldn't eavesdrop.

"What kind of wolf do _you_ think it was?"

"I can't say it. It's too silly."

The Doctor looked down at her sideways, his eyebrow raised meaningfully. She scoffed.

"No. It couldn't be. That's a myth, a fairytale. Isn't it?"

"There are many things in human history thought to be no more than wild legend, yah." He shrugged, but she had a feeling he was going to say something totally contradictory next, as was his M.O. "But that doesn't mean there isn't real, tangible _fact_ behind those legends, Martha."

"So…werewolves, then." Martha swallowed, trying to wrap her head round it. "Wow. Werewolves exist…"

"Well – that's just one of the many names they've been called. But you have to understand Martha, werewolves, ghosts, vampires, and whathaveyous: they're all basically just visitors. They come in many forms, with many different agendas, and many different origins. Some are just lost, depending on their origin. They just need a way out; a way back to their own home. But some…well, let's just say that 'lost' isn't a word I'd use to describe them."

"So that means we're not sure about our friend's origin, yeah?"

"Yep." He popped the 'p'.

"But we hope he's the lost kind, don't we?"

"We do."

"Because if he isn't…"

The Doctor didn't answer, but Martha got the picture. Specifically a mental image of the plasmavore on the moon, the Clades, creatures like Kilth, the Daleks in Manhattan, the Carionites…the Family of Blood. She shivered.

They came to a halt suddenly. Martha looked before her and saw that they'd reached the bank, where she'd ended up on her bum. The Doctor turned to John. "Our friend is across the creek. We need to reach it before it leaves the cover of the trees."

"Why would it do that?" John asked, peering across to the other side warily.

"West Point is that way, isn't it?" The Doctor asked gravely.

John hesitated, but then nodded once.

"Then it's heading there!" Martha realized at once, before The Doctor could say anything. She felt her heart leap into her throat. If there was a town or city on the other side of this creek and that werewolf was heading for it, then that meant people were going to die. And as someone who had seen firsthand how massive, fast, and ferocious the thing was, she felt sick at the thought of an innocent person coming in contact with it. She looked at The Doctor, trying to swallow down her apprehension. "Doctor, we have to stop it."

The Doctor acknowledged her concern with a pleased gleam in his eyes and asked John: "Is there a bridge anywhere near?"

"Naw, sir," it was Louis Blue who spoke up this time. His voice reminded Martha of Richard Pryor's – it was high-pitched but rough. "Nearest bridge is 'bout a mile on down that way." He pointed to his left. "Where the creek flow gets too rough to wade in. We ain't gon' make it there before that demon reaches them train tracks. Then it's as good as in West Point."

The Doctor nodded solemnly and turned to step into the water. "Then we'll have to swim across."

Martha immediately followed him, even though she dreaded going into the cold, sludgy water. The men hesitated for a moment, but once John nodded for them to follow, they hoisted their guns above their heads and started wading in after Martha and The Doctor.

"_Shiiiit_, Jack!" Buster complained to no one in particular. "I just threw down my last duckets on this coat!"

"Yous a fool for wearin' it out here, then." Louis quipped, causing Earl and Lenny to snicker.

Martha frowned slightly at the word 'duckets' but figured that he meant 'money' so she kept wading precariously through the muddy water. The current wasn't strong enough to take her under, but it did make it slightly harder for her to move in a straight line.

The Doctor swam ahead, then climbed out onto the bank when he reached the other side. He turned and reached out for Martha. She took his hand, allowing him to pull her forward. She saw the look on his face and bit her lip. "Your sonic is done for, isn't it?"

"No, but it'll be useless until the mechanism dries out." If she didn't know any better, she would think he was pouting.

But The Doctor got over it quickly, his gaze shifting up at the sky. The moon was still unobscured and shining brightly overhead, but the expression on his face gave Martha pause.

"What is it?"

"Stay close to me…" he said, speaking low, taking her hand, pulling her closer to him. "Since we don't know where our friend is from, or what it wants, we'll go with what we _do_ know."

"Which is?"

"It's a full moon, and…" he hesitated, staring down at her. "It has killed already tonight. Possibly several times."

"Oh." Martha felt her skin turn freezing, but it had little to do with the fact that she was soaked through.

Mister John and his men emerged from the water and were soon flanking Martha and The Doctor again. They walked on a short distance into the trees, Mister John leading the way this time, until they came to a small clearing, bathed in moonlight.

John rubbed his stubbled chin hard.

"Alright, boys, this is how this thing goes down – we split up, two to a corner, until we find it. Whoever spots it first, don't be no hero. You call for us and then we'll blow it to Kingdom Come, ya hear?"

The men all grunted in agreement. The Doctor frowned, but didn't protest right away. Martha was surprised. She squeezed his hand. He didn't seem to respond; his eyes remained fixed to the ground, that frown set on his features. He was thinking, working something out.

Then he said firmly: "Stay in the moonlight, all of you."

They all hesitated, staring at him.

"Why?" Walter Fletcher spoke up, shifting on his feet nervously.

Of all the men, he looked the most afraid, the most out of place. Bookish and a little portly, he held the rifle in his hands awkwardly, like it didn't belong to him. He looked like on any other night, he'd be enjoying a healthy snack and a book. He certainly spoke like an educated man, which must've been rare in these parts at this time in America. She wondered what he was doing there tonight. Then Martha chided herself, never wishing to think of the others as uneducated, therefore lesser. That was a rubbish way to see things.

"We'd stand a better chance in the shadows, Doctor." Walter – "Fletch" – continued. Then he faltered. "Wouldn't we?"

"Trust me, you won't," The Doctor said, now squinting up at the sky.

Martha didn't have a clue what he was on about – everything she knew about werewolves was that moonlight was _bad_.

He paused, as if trying to think of a simple way to phrase what Martha could tell was a complicated explanation.

"When it cornered Martha and me, I was able to stall it because of the light, you see? In the light, it…" he clenched his jaw. "There was some kind of psychotropic effect – like hypnosis, only…well…_not_."

They didn't understand or believe him – actually they were looking at him as if he was completely mad. But he pressed on. He looked up at the sky again. Clouds were creeping in, dangerously close to the moon.

"Just trust me. Stay in the moonlight. The second there's cloud cover, run for it."

"No you listen to _us_, _lily white_," Lenny hissed impatiently, his toothpick bobbing between his full lips. "I don't care who you are, I done had enough of you flappin them gums of yours. We packin', an' we ain't leavin' here till we shoot this demon dog into the ground, got that? Why don't you concern yaself wit keepin' that fine little mama of yours outta harm's way? Think you can manage it? Cause if you can't, I can take her off ya hands fo' ya." He leered at Martha. "Just slide yaself on over here next to ol' Lenny, baby. I won't let the big bad wolf git ya…"

Martha had been so disgusted by his insult to The Doctor and his stupid come-ons that she hadn't noticed the two silvery orbs hovering in the darkness over Lenny's shoulder, just out of the moonlight. She hadn't noticed, that is, until The Doctor squeezed her hand so tight she though he might've broken a bone.

Then she saw it, the werewolf, and everything followed in slow motion, like a dream. Those eyes…

The Doctor was launching himself towards Lenny. Then the guns came up. Then Lenny was in the air, and Martha felt something warm and wet slap across her face. It wasn't water. The creek water was cold. Martha knew what it was. Lester had dropped his gun, and he was screaming in agony, his legs kicking this way and that.

The Doctor was tugging at him, folding Lenny's lower body into his arms, trying to pry him away from the beast. "No! Let him go, you don't have to do this! NO!" he was shouting.

Martha thought she'd have heard shots by now, but a glance around told her that all five other men were standing stock still, shocked out of their wits, gaping at the huge wolf that had their friend.

"SOMEONE HELP ME GET HIM INTO THE LIGHT!" The Doctor bellowed, and whatever had been gripping Martha, holding her to the spot as these men were being held, released her and she charged forward to The Doctor's aid.

She grabbed hold of Lenny, too, not daring to look into the shadows, or those eyes. She heard a deafening growling, snarling, ripping – felt sure a massive claw had swiped at her, nearly catching her on the side of the skull. Her heart thumped so hard in her chest that it hurt. Lenny's body was being dragged away, and now all she had was one of his legs.

Then John was with them, trying to help.

Martha didn't look. She just _couldn't look_ and risk seeing those terrifying silver white eyes. All that mattered was that Lenny was still struggling; still screaming; and that meant he was still alive – they could still save him. All traces of the disdain she had for him vanished; tears blinded her as she clawed at him, fighting for him. _Please, please, let him go!_ She thought wildly, even as it seemed like the Doctor was yelling those exact words.

Then a gust of wind swept a cluster of clouds over the moon, and everything went suddenly dark. Martha's heart skipped a beat, and unthinkingly, she let go of Lenny's boot. With one last strangled cry, Lenny was gone – Martha could actually hear his hand being ripped from The Doctor's and the triumphant snarl of the beast as it won the tug of war.

"No!" Mister John yelled, next to her. "Lenny!"

The darkness seemed to snap the other men out of whatever trance they were in because the next thing she heard were a slew of gunshots. "Stop! No, don't shoot!" The Doctor tried, but it didn't matter.

Martha clamped her hands over her ears and scrambled across the damp grass towards some kind of cover, but there was nowhere to go. She heard an awful splitting and cracking, a burrowing and growling, and tried not to picture the giant werewolf ripping Lenny's body to shreds and drinking his blood.

Then something heavy and breathing was suddenly on top of her. It was The Doctor – he had thrown himself on top of her to shield her from the gunshots – or the beast. "Run!" He shouted over her head. "Stop shooting – just RUN!"

Martha was shaking like a leaf, it was pitch black and she could barely see a thing, but what she _heard_…

The wolf gave a ferocious cry of rage, and then she heard claws on grass, thundering movement, and a man's scream. Her heart lurched. It sounded like that nice, bookish Walter chap. He was the only one polite enough to avoid ogling her like the rest of them.

She struggled under The Doctor's weight, suddenly frantic to help – she couldn't just lay there and _listen_ these men get slaughtered! "No, no, Martha, please just wait…" he gritted into her ear, "…wait for the light."

More screams, more gunshots, more snarling and snapping and thundering movement. The Doctor pressed himself into Martha so hard that she almost couldn't breathe. His hands covered hers in the grass, clenching down tight. She felt his breath mingling with hers in their cramped little huddle on the wet ground. His body, though clothed in wet garments, was burning up. And Martha realized something – he was _furious_.

No, he wasn't going to let her up to get taken by the wolf. He forced her to stay there – not wishing to risk losing her as well. But he was practically trembling with anger, and Martha felt the tiniest ray of comfort in that.

Then – finally – the clouds were swept away again, and the milky moonlight reached them, touching everything in its path. The second it did, The Doctor was on his feet, ushering her behind a tree before running back into the clearing, into the light.

"STOP!" he ordered.

Martha closed her eyes and swallowed hard, then stepped from around the tree to face the scene.

And it was a gruesome one.

Blood stained the grass. Guns were lying askance everywhere. Buster and Louis were in a heap, slumped against each other at the root of a large tree across the clearing. Earl was lying on his back, but his gun was in his hands and he had his sights set on the creature. Walter was unrecognizable, having also been thrown against a tree; his body so badly torn at and broken that it didn't much resemble a human's at all. Martha's stomach lurched. There was no sign of Mister John anywhere.

And The Doctor stood in the middle of it all, face to face with the enormous beast.


	4. Chapter 4

IV.

John looked around him and saw a scene so horrible he could hardly believe it was happening. Under the erratic light of gunfire – _flash_, darkness, _flash_, darkness, _flash!_ – he saw bloodshed and chaos, fear and ferocity. He saw Fletch snatched up as if his two hundred and ninety-some-odd pounds was nothing.

Then there was blood, and screams, and those silvery white eyes tunneling through to John's soul.

He scrambled back on his butt until he reached his gun, almost losing his supper over the sight of Fletch – that poor, four-eyed Uncle Tom son of a bitch, _what did he ever do to anybody?_ – being mutilated and eaten by an enormous black wolf right before his eyes.

The flash of gunfire was everywhere, and John became aware that his other friends were still alive, still fighting. So he grabbed his own pistol and got to his feet. In the hail of gunshots, he just had time to see that the doctor man had thrown himself bodily over the Martha woman to protect her.

Then he heard Fletch let out one last terrified scream of agony and he was facing the beast again.

"Stop shooting – just RUN!" The white man on the ground pleaded, but John had no intention of running from this thing. He aimed and fired. His bullet hit the beast in the back, but it didn't go down. Instead it tossed Fletch aside like a rag doll and turned to roar at John.

He saw, with sickening dread, that the thing was riddled with bullet holes, blood oozing out of it from the wounds. But that didn't seem to matter much to it. It's eyes were something terrible…

Louis charged at it, having run out of bullets, but he was swatted out of the beast's path like a fly. He went flying through the air and landed, unconscious, against a tree. Next Buster tried, and he also was tossed clean across the clearing, landing on top of Louis. Earl was trying to reload his weapon, crawling around the grass on his back like a crab, grasping for the bullets he'd dropped in the chaos.

The demon wolf was heading right for John now. He stood his ground, his pistol aimed, ready to plug the thing right between the eyes.

Then the moonlight came out – and suddenly the doctor man was on his feet – so quick John didn't understand how it happened. But he was on his feet and he walked right into the demon wolf's path. The sight of it shocked John more than anything else he'd seen tonight.

The man's face held an expression John had never witnessed before in his life. His eyes were blazing with what John could only describe as a kind of otherworldly fury. This skinny white man seemed, somehow in that instant, a hundred times older than he appeared to be. And he strode forward to meet the beast without fear of any kind. His eyes were on fire – he had _seen_ things, John could tell. Bad things. He had seen things and done things that made facing this demon wolf no sweat for him.

He stepped right in front of that thing, right under the moonlight in the middle of the clearing, and shouted an order. It wasn't necessarily the order that made John's jaw drop.

It was that the demon beast actually _obeyed him_.

"STOP!"

The giant wolf halted in its tracks as the doctor man thrust out his hand in front of it imperiously. Then it slowly began to stand up straight, its quivering muscles making the jet black fur covering it look like it was a live thing all its own. That huge head rose so high above the doctor's that for such a tall man he looked dwarfed next to this thing.

But he stood unafraid, glaring up into those terrifying silvery white eyes.

"Why have you done this?" He demanded in a furious undertone.

The beast didn't answer. It growled low in its gullet, flexing its claws, looking for all the world as though it would slash open the skinny doctor's throat any second.

"You're still afraid, aren't you?" The Doctor was asking, now. "Well I'm not going to hurt you. But you _do_ understand, I have no choice but to _stop_ you? You've…_murdered_…innocent men!" John watched him shake his head slowly. "Why? What are you after? What's your purpose here…?" It seemed now as if he was asking _himself_ as well as the giant murderous animal hovering dangerously in front of him.

Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the Martha woman moving around in the shadows. He reluctantly tore his eyes away from her doctor friend and watched her. She was heading around the clearing, carefully trying not to draw attention to herself from the beast, towards where Louis and Buster lay, still unconscious.

John turned back to the man and the beast.

The doctor man was doing something really unbelievable and plum crazy now. In the moment that John had his gaze on Martha, the man had raised both hands and touched either side of the wolf's massive head. Then he closed his eyes.

"Don't be afraid…" he said calmly, even gently. "I won't hurt you – I just need to find a few things."

John felt his own anger ripple through him. _What the hell was this loony fool __**doing?**_

He surged forth, kneeling next to Earl, who was still on his back with his rifle aimed, staring at the scene in disbelief. The Martha woman was patting Louis down, then she reached over and pressed her fingers to his throat. She was very still for a moment, then she seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. She did the same to Buster, and again she looked relieved as she discovered a pulse.

John ignored her, turning his face down to Earl's. "We'll shoot it; the both of us; when I say," he whispered.

Earl nodded silently, swallowing and inching his finger towards the trigger.

The man was still touching the beast. "Oh, you're a _lonnng_ way from home…" he whispered, his eyes still closed and his brow furrowed in concentration. Then his jaw clenched, and he looked angry again. "This man _doesn't belong to you_. He's slipping away every…" he trailed off.

Then his face lit up all of a sudden, as if he was happy about something. The creature growled low, but didn't attack.

"That's _it!_ Of course! But, no…no, no, no, no…you can't do that!" His eyes popped open and he stepped back, glaring up into the thing's eyes. "You may be stranded here, but that's no excuse! Oh you just _wait_ until I have a word with your commanding officer! I'm a lot scarier than his enemies, trust me. _Look around you! Look what you've done_! Haven't you wondered where your friends are? You got it wrong!"

The man gestured around him, his voice rising with dark anger. The beast roared, its chest heaving fearsomely, but it didn't attack. Then the man paused, seeming to be thinking about something. He looked again at the wolf. "Or…did you? You're fully aware there aren't any of your kind here, aren't you?"

"Wait for it…" John muttered.

"At least…not yet, eh? That's the plan, isn't it?"

The Martha woman was still checking Louis and Buster over for injuries, her eyes darting towards her friend anxiously every few seconds. Then she spotted John and Earl leaned near each other, their guns aimed. John gave her a meaningful look, telling her to keep quiet. Her eyes narrowed at him.

"Doctor!" she shouted.

John didn't wait to see if the doctor man had gotten out of the way or not. He ordered: "Now!"

He and Earl pulled their triggers without stopping, unloading everything they had into the beast's back and side, hoping to get him in the head. "Don't!" Shouted the doctor, but even _he_ wasn't fool enough to step in the line of fire.

The giant wolf howled and roared and turned on its enormous flanks. It charged right at Earl and John, and at first John thought they were dead for sure, but at the last second it leapt right over their heads and kept running, into the shadows. The last thing John heard of it was a deafening howl.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor stood stark still for two seconds, working out exactly what he had to do. When the pieces all fit together, his mind went 'ding!' and he sprang to action.

First, he turned to find Martha kneeled beside Louis and Buster. He had no time to lose. "Are they breathing?"

She hesitated, but nodded quickly, her eyes burrowing into him. He could tell that _she could tell_ he was gearing up for a super-fast slew of instructions – and he appreciated how well she knew him.

Ignoring Mister John and Earl, who were slowly getting to their feet, staring at him in disbelief and despair (with a little outrage thrown in for giggles), The Doctor slipped his sonic screwdriver out of the inner pocket of his coat and gripped it firmly in his palm.

"Martha this is very important – check them over again. Thoroughly. If they have so much as a _scratch_…"

He stared at her meaningfully. She stiffened, but nodded again.

He turned to John and Earl. "Your friends are in danger. But they could also be a danger _to you_. Watch over them, but if they…if they turn, let them go. Do you understand? Don't stand in their way. And _do not follow me_. Go to the bridge, cross the creek, and get to safety as fast as you can."

He turned in the direction of the train tracks, where the wolf was headed. He didn't get far. As he suspected she would be, Martha was blocking his path. She knew him well, but that didn't mean she'd let him get away without telling her more.

Her eyes were large brown pools full of questions. For a nanosecond, he wanted to give her a tight hug, but instead of giving into that impulse, he simply fixed her with an apologetic, yet firm gaze.

"I wish I could explain more, but I _have_ to catch him up or he'll get into the next town. I've riled him up. He'll be searching for new hosts now; it's my fault. I have to stop him."

"I'm coming with y-"

"No, Martha, please I need you to remember this: stay in the light. The moonlight is the only thing keeping you four alive, the first thing you run for if…if Buster and Earl…"

She stiffened and he knew she understood exactly what he meant.

"You'll get maybe a few minutes of light before the clouds sweep in again. If you have to use it, make eye contact, be confident, like an authority figure, like – well – like _me_, do you understand?"

He could tell she wanted to ask him why, but she bit back her question, letting him continue speaking as quickly as he could.

"But don't hang round chatting with it, go that? Tell it The Doctor knows its mission; that I'll be having a word with its leader – then tell it to bugger off and _run for it._ Head back to Mister John's, and I promise I'll find you again there as soon as I'm done here."

She nodded again. And again, he wanted to embrace her. But he had to go. He gave her one last _'trust me'_ face.

Then he was off – running as fast as he could after the wolf. He could feel Martha's fear, her confusion, her concern following after him and his hearts tightened painfully to think that he hadn't given her enough information. But he simply had no time to lose. He clung to his confidence in her – clung to the knowledge that Martha Jones could take care of herself, and that she would face whatever she had to because she trusted him. He just hoped he wouldn't let her down now.

As he ran, he shook his screwdriver about, shaking it dry, flipping the settings, checking the readings, blowing into it.

He double-pumped his legs, trying to gain as much of the terrain he'd lost to the werewolf as possible.

Well – 'werewolf' was such a human term. They had very little understanding of the intricacies of lupine origins. There were hundreds. He had been scaling it down a bit for Martha, but the fact remained that The Doctor could be dealing with several dozen possible forms. Basic lycanthropic transmutation being the most common form only in human history.

Though that one didn't have such a unique reaction to moonlight. So that one was obviously out.

The Doctor chuckled – alright, humans seemed to have picked up on something right. Moonlight was a bit of a trend among lupine origins, even on planets without moons.

The light touched and left him as he ran under clusters of clouds high in the sky.

He thought about what he'd learned from the lupine being's mind. It shared a mind with a human being, its host, but it was fully in control. Only – _not_. It didn't attack The Doctor because The Doctor told it not to; told it to stop. It obviously didn't like obeying – but it did, anyway.

That was a good clue.

Next, in the mind, the Doctor could discern that it was a warrior of some kind; crash-landed and marooned on Earth. But, from where? From when? And why in the small wood separating White Station and West Point, Mississippi? The Doctor hadn't been able to see.

It could've been just an accident – just where the warrior ended up. But somehow The Doctor sensed another explanation. The warrior was guarding something in its mind – a mission no doubt. And if it had a mission, that meant it chose this place for a specific reason. That reason didn't happen to make sense to The Doctor at the moment, but he had faith in his genius. He'd figure it out in time – hopefully sooner rather than later. One never knew.

He ran.

His lungs expanded and collapsed, expanded and collapsed. Hearts churned blood through his circulatory system, pumping life into his limbs as he channeled every ounce of adrenaline he had to keep running. He wasn't human, and his Time Lord anatomy gave him certain advantages that humans didn't have. Namely a bigger lung reserve, faster reflexes, better eyesight – not to mention that having two hearts was _always_ a bonus.

So he ran. And for the first half-mile, he didn't feel it at all.

He loved running. People didn't do it enough, in his opinion.

The Doctor checked his sonic screwdriver every now and then as he surged on, squinting down at the little readouts with one eye as he did so. There were four little bars on it, two of which were now lit green. He had two more to go – and then it would be back to full power. He felt a bit daft for forgetting to remove it from his pocket before he waded through the creek water. Was he distracted? By what, exactly?

_Martha_, answered his mind's voice instantly.

_Mister John's men ogling Martha._

_Blimey,_ _**really?**_ His mind's other, more incredulous voice asked. _With a rogue lupine warrior running about on the wrong planet, causing trouble? You forgot to take your sonic out of your pocket because you were still stewing over the hungry eyes of a bunch of gun-toting humans?_

'_Fraid so_, his first voice confirmed, apparently not all that fussed about it.

Then he made a mental note to explore that interesting realization again later when he had more time.

And he was still running, a sort of _la dee da_ grace to his stride, even though he was moving at about the same rate of speed as Linford Christie on his best day. The Doctor beamed to himself as he leapt over an overturned log. Oh, he _loved_ Linford Christie! Perhaps he would take Martha to see one of his Olympic runs – bet she'd be chuffed!

_Neutralize lupine warrior now; impress Martha later, Doctor_, his incredulous voice chided.

"Right," he spoke aloud, just as he noticed that he was closing in on the edge of the narrow wood, nearing the train tracks. "Down to business, then."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha watched The Doctor disappear through the trees.

That feeling she always got when she was separated from him – as if she was un-tethered, somehow; cut free from her safety net and sent floating about in space – came over her powerfully. But she took a deep breath, squashing it down, then turned and stepped towards Mister John. "We'd better do as he says. We can't stay in this spot."

He glared at her. "Now, just what the hell _was that?_" He gestured wildly, referring to everything he'd just witnessed. "You and ya doctor friend got some explainin' to do!"

Martha clenched her jaw. "Later, I promise. Right now we have to _move_."

"I'm going after him." Mister John started to stalk determinedly past her, but she put her hands up to hold him off.

"Please, just listen! The Doctor can handle himself. We have to get out of this clearing and into some shelter before we lose the moonlight."

"Wait, he's gonna take on that big ass monster with a shiny little _stick?_"

Right, this bloke was getting on her nerves, now. She put just as much defiance in her voice as she could muster, seeing that he would only respond to her if she gave him back the same attitude as he was giving her. "Trust me, that 'shiny little stick' can do more than you can imagine – even more than those guns of yours have been able to do up 'til now. Now are you going to help me with them, or not?"

She jabbed a finger towards Louis and Buster, who where starting to stir awake.

_Trust me_…those words seemed to fly past these strangers' lips a lot. He sighed hard. Then he turned to Earl, prepared to tell him to get a move on and help with Buster and Louis. But, something in the young man's expression made him stop short.

Earl was staring, wide-eyed, at a spot just beyond John's shoulder, into the darkness.

"Earl? What is it, boy?"

"Lenny…" Earl swallowed. "He's gone."

"What?" Martha demanded, turning to follow his gaze. With lead in his belly, John turned to look, too. "Oh no."

In the place where Lenny's mangled body should've lain – the place in the darkness where the demon wolf won the tug of war – there was nothing but a flat, bloody patch of grass.

No Lenny.

Martha felt her heart jump into her throat. She wanted to scan the darkness on all sides, to see if she'd spot two silvery white orbs lurking within it, waiting…

But she stopped herself, and bounded towards their two injured, shouting "Come on, help me get them up. Please!"

Mister John tore his eyes away from the foreboding patch of bloody grass. Only to have them land on Fletch's mangled body. He felt sick to his stomach. Fletch got on people's nerves some, but there wasn't a mean bone in his body – in John's book, that made him all right. He didn't deserve to die like that.

Mister John took off his wet work shirt and laid it across the Fletch's torso, covering his face. Then he turned to help Martha.

She had been watching him cover his friend up, a respectful and empathetic look in her eyes. But now she turned and slapped Louis across the face as hard as she could. He snapped awake, sitting up straight in shock, and then slumped again, groaning. "Ohhh, brother, my _head_!"

"Are you hurt?" Martha demanded urgently. "Scratched? Did it bite you?"

"Uhhh…" Louis hesitated, gathering his wits, and shook his head. He regretted it immediately, the pounding from that blow from hitting the tree making his brains feel like somebody was stomping on them. "Naw, ma'am. That thing just knocked my ass against this tree so fast I didn't have time to call for my mama."

He was glad to see his little joke elicited a weak, relieved smile from the pretty sista with the funny accent.

"What is your name? Today's date? Who's the President?"

He answered her questions fine (she couldn't actually remember who the President was at the time, so she took his word for it and was glad The Doctor wasn't around to catch that) and she was satisfied that he didn't have a concussion.

"Can you stand up? Think you could run if you needed to?"

"If that thing is still out there, you ain't gotta tell me twice to start runnin'." He assured her.

"Good. Earl, could you help him up, please?" Martha turned her attention to Buster, who was slower to wake. He moaned and groaned, his eyes fluttering several times before he opened them. "Buster? Buster can you hear me?"

"Som'bitch got the drop on me…!"

"Buster, get ya ass up, we gotta high-tail it outta here!" Earl insisted, his voice breaking. Martha felt a pang of sympathy for him – his brother Lenny was probably transforming into a werewolf, if he hadn't done already. It wouldn't do to have him lose Buster, too.

"Keep ya breeches on, Earl! Get back, give me some space…" They all stepped back and Buster got to his feet, teetered, and fell against the tree. He glanced up at Martha quickly – she was annoyed to realize he was embarrassed to appear weak in front of her.

"No time to be shy, mate," she insisted. "What's wrong? Is it your ankle?"

"Yeah…" he muttered. "Twisted this som'bitch somethin' awful when that demon dog tossed my big ass against this tree."

"Right. Mister John, can you help me support him? I'll take a look at it when we're somewhere safe."

Mister John started to make a face at her (she knew which one, having seen it often enough traveling to different time periods with The Doctor: the 'and just what would _you_ know about medical matters?' face) but thought better of it and obeyed her.

Martha performed the same test she'd given Louis, and Buster showed no signs of concussion either.

"Now, how about scratches? I checked you over, but if you have anything-?"

"Naw, I'm not scratched why?"

Martha hesitated. She swallowed. She remembered what The Doctor said. And so did Mister John. He spoke in her stead: "Cause you might turn into one of them things," he uttered, his deep voice grave and hard to underestimate. Martha could tell whatever he said, they would obey. Not that they were his servants or his inferiors – just that they trusted him the way she trusted The Doctor. With their lives. "So if you bleedin' anywhere, any of you, fess up now."

No one spoke.

Then Louis took of his hat and squeezed it between his hands, staring at Fletch's covered body. "Goddamn…what'd it do to Fletch…?"

Martha glanced around, wary of the darkness. And the clouds. "I'm sorry, but we'll have to leave him. The bridge may be too far. Do you think you can wade across the creek again on your ankle, Buster?"

Buster drew himself up, supported by Mister John, and nodded solemnly. "I'm good, mamma."

She gave him a weary smile. "Good. Then let's push on."

She had a thought – and another, about what The Doctor might think of it, but that didn't matter now – and retrieved Buster's lost pistol from the grass. She checked it for bullets. It wouldn't help, but it might not hurt either. After all, _she_ didn't have a handy sonic screwdriver to carry around at all times incase of emergencies such as this one.

"Ready."

They made their way warily back towards the creek, eyes roaming everywhere, ears perked up against the sounds of the forest – afraid that their friend Lenny might emerge at any moment to finish what his attacker had started.


	5. Chapter 5

**V.**

There were lamps posted along the train tracks – tall poles in a straight line as far as the eye could see in both directions, flanking each side. There were at least three tracks. The empty one was for passenger trains. The other two tracks still held freight trains, parked and waiting for overnight cargo.

The Doctor wondered if there were any vagabonds taking shelter for the night in any of the empty cars. He hoped not, but there was no way to be sure unless he checked every one.

He slowed to a jog, and when he reached the first track, he stopped, breathing hard.

He looked to and fro – his eyes scanning the landscape shrewdly. It was very quiet. Dead quiet.

Before moving on, he checked his sonic again. Four bars. _Allons-y._

The Doctor moved stealthily, slinking up to one of the massive, empty train cars. The door was ajar. He peered inside, using the wane light of the sonic as a makeshift torch to see into the darkness. It was empty. The Doctor stood next to it, pressing himself flat, taking a moment to check something before he moved on.

He adjusted the screwdriver's settings and lifted his arm, aiming it directly at the moon. He had a theory. Something about that moon…

There were clouds obscuring it at first, but after a few seconds, they parted. He was bathed in moonlight – so powerful it threatened to actually overpower the yellowish lamp light from the poles nearest him. Further egging on his theory. The sonic did its work, and he lowered his arm to check the readings.

Just as he suspected. This was no ordinary moonlight. Something was changing it – intensifying it. The full moon was a catalyst for some sort of signal broadcast. "Think…" he ran a hand over his face, staring hard at the readings on the sonic.

"Now's not a good time to be thick…think, think, _think!_" he hissed.

Intensified moonlight, made possible by the full moon – all the better to…what? In the moonlight, the lupine warrior listened to him. Why? What did that have to do with the presence of a signal? And how did the signal work? Well that was easy – obviously it used diffuse reflections from the sun (most powerful during a full moon) to broadcast.

Moonlight. Signal. Diffuse reflection broadcast. Control.

Control in the light. "Ah!" he shouted loudly, his voice shattering the silence. "Haemovariform wavelengths!"

He didn't care that he'd shouted loud enough to wake the dead. He intended to draw the Haemovariform – the _Lupine_ Haemovariform; _that_ was new – toward him, and away from any innocent humans that might be in the area.

The Doctor beamed, stepping away from the car and bouncing lightly across the nearest track, so that he was standing between two parked cargo trains. He tucked one hand in his pocket, his other hand holding his sonic loosely at his side; his long coat trailed behind him, and he stood with his legs in an upside down V. He waited, still grinning.

"Come on out!" he shouted. "Now that I know what you are, proper introductions are in order! I'm The Doctor, what's your name? We both know I'm not going to let you get anywhere near that town, so you may as well deal with me now."

He waited. It was still deadly quiet. Still, he was confident. He squinted up at the sky. The moon was still very visible. It made him feel even more at ease to think that same moon was currently shining brightly down on Martha, keeping her somewhat safe.

After a long pause, he heard the beast breathing; growling low in its gullet. _That's right, nasty…come to The Doctor_, he thought darkly. And seconds later, it emerged a few yards away ahead of him, jaw dripping with saliva. Its silvery white eyes gleamed.

"Ohhh…" The Doctor intoned appreciatively, having a new understanding of the creature. "You are just _beautiful_. Look at you! Go on, up you come. Unlike you, I don't bite."

The giant wolf stalked toward him, it's orbs darting to the sky before landing again on him. It came to him and stopped a few short meters away. It breathed; its massive black body heaving and deadly.

"Now then…" uttered The Doctor. "I just have one question." He paused, then scratched his head. "Well – actually I have a few questions, but first – tell me how I was able to stop you." He grinned again. "So I can do it again, naturally."

The beast, of course, did not respond. It looked like it was itching to attack. He stared it down. Thinking. And it came to him.

"Ahhhh…." He rubbed his chin, unabashedly stepping closer; strolling, really. "My telepathy interfered with your signal, didn't it? And if it did that, that means it's weakening. You've only got a small window of time. Full moon goes away tomorrow. So tell me your mission, I'll see what I can do, eh?"

The beast growled; it's jaws so sharp and deadly looking that any human or lesser species might be pissing himself right now. It stepped closer. The Doctor raised his chin, his eyebrow arched imperiously.

"One thing I don't understand," he kept talking – stalling for an idea that might give him some way to send this thing back where it came from. "Why did you come here, specifically? What are you after – aside from more jarheads to fill the battlefield?"

Closer, it inched. The Doctor briefly considered his own safety, but put it out of his mind. If he had to…die…to save these people (and Martha) he would. But not before he found a way to get this Haemovariform safely off this planet.

"Your breeders sent you here for a reason – and speaking of which, I'm gagging to have a word with them!" He said casually, rocking on his trainers. "Brilliant, that! Using lupine cells to extend their genetic life cycle. More options, more breeding, more warriors, like yourself," he waved a hand dismissively at the growling wolf. "Excellent way to expand their defenses – an endless assortment of soldiers, marching into battle!

"Isn't that right? And the best part is, your enemies won't even realize, will they? They won't know who's coming! Brilliant! Haemovariforms started out as, what…?"

He thought for a moment, seemingly oblivious to the dangerous killer standing less than a foot away from his thin frame.

"…oh right! You looked like the Panthera, didn't you? They were the first species you copied, am I right? Oh, well that is very impressive. How many forms have you assumed? And, blimey how far along are you? Three hundred years? Four hundred? You haven't met the Clades, yet have you…obliviously not."

At the mention of the name 'Clades' the animal howled and charged closer, so that its snout was mere centimeters away from The Doctor's nose. Its breath was something foul, truly.

"Ahh….it _is_ the Clades you're fighting, isn't it? Desperate times mean desperate measures, eh?"

He stared into its terrifying eyes.

"Now," he said seriously. "You don't actually think I'm going to let you run amok on this planet, taking human hosts at will to fill an army, do you?"

It's jaws shuttered – every muscle in its body looked poised to strike. Yet it did not. The Doctor couldn't quite decide if this was a good thing, or a bad one. But it wasn't attacking – yet. The moonlight was still visible. He still had time.

"I can help you, but you have to let me in. I need the details of your mission." He stealthily slipped his sonic into his trouser pocket and raised his hands. "I can find an alternative for you. I've fought the Clades before – I can help you defeat them, _without_ losing more lives. Alright?"

He nearly had his fingers to the thing's temples, but a second too late he noticed its eyes move away from his, to look over his shoulder. And The Doctor saw the darkness of cloud cover approaching, and though his mind was working in slow motion, dissecting all the elements of what was about to happen to him – he knew that it was far too late to change this course of action.

Like he expected, the clouds swept in. And the hidden second Haemovariform leapt out from the shadows. The Doctor turned, just in time to witness a massive claw swiping down on him ferociously.

He didn't quite feel the pain until he was on the ground, gasping for breath. Warm liquid pooled and spread across the front of his shirt, nearly soaking through his jacket. It would soon. He liked this suit, it was his favorite shade of blue.

The two Haemovariforms glared down at him. He reached up a hand in protest, trying to will them to stop. To stay where they were. His chest was practically shredded, and he felt the lupine venom spreading, stinging, burning. He couldn't breathe.

They were gone in a roar of thundering strides that shook the ground beneath him. His vision blurred.

He cursed himself.

If only he could have gotten into the first one's mind again. If only he hadn't been so focused on his own brilliance, figuring out the puzzle, that he'd failed to realize that what used to be Lenny Wilkes was lurking behind him.

_A little late for _that, _Doctor_, he thought. He didn't know where they had gone. But he knew what they had done. What they would continue to do until the sun came up. They'd paired off. They were clever, together. Which was why they needed an army. More hosts, more minds at work. He had failed.

That was infuriating – but unfortunately he couldn't dwell. He had to get out of the open.

With difficulty, The Doctor rolled over onto his stomach. The landscape dipped and swayed nauseatingly.

The Doctor breathed harshly, spitting on the ground, and dug his fingers into the gravel beneath him.

He used all his strength to get to his knees, and he crawled towards an open cargo car. He hoped there was no one inside. He prayed.

He made it inside, crawling up and inside even as he could feel the change starting.

He tried to stifle an angry moan but it escaped. He clawed the iron flooring of the cargo car, his eyes darting to and fro in the darkness. Sweat dripped from his hairline. "If there's anyone in here…" he growled, feeling the bones in his spine beginning to snap.

"Get outtt nowwww….!'

Thankfully, there was no one inside. The Doctor cried out, unable to control himself for a frightening moment, as he twirled around and landed on his back. He felt bones all through him breaking, twisting, shifting, and it was agony. He wept gutturally as he shrugged out of his coat, the heavy material stifling him to the point that he felt he would suffocate.

In his last moments of lucid consciousness, The Doctor fished his sonic out of his pocket.

"Urrrghhhhhahh!" He snarled, his vision so acute that it hurt his eyes. A shimmering purple sheen bounced off any light around him, blinding him. Infrared. So he could see the blood pumping through his victim's veins. Their hearts beating chunkily, dripping sacs in their chests; ripe for a good gnash of his fangs.

Then he felt a ferocious surge of rage and hunger rip through him.

Blood. He wanted blood. He had to have it!

"No!"

His whole body trembled. His muscles were on fire. Tendons pulsing and shuddering all over. He resisted as long as he could – long enough to sonic the doors of the cargo car shut and lock them tight. He concentrated on the spaces around the edges, making sure the metal was pressed and merged in on itself as tightly as possible.

He was plunged into darkness.

He could feel the moon pulling along the unbearable pain of his body mutating. His bloodlust coursed through him, making him salivate. Thick, brown hairs rose on up on his skin, painfully sprouting like tiny worms all over his body. He heard his trainers ripping. Felt his suit stretch tight, then rip to shreds. His fingernails ripped apart and claws emerged in their place. Then he felt himself succumbing to the transformation.

He cried out one last word as it took him. "MARTHAAAA!"

And then The Doctor howled.


	6. Chapter 6

**Thanks to everyone for your reviews! I'm really glad everyone seems to like the story so far. Trust me, it gets better! Please keep reviewing! **

* * *

**VI.**

They trudged again through the woods in silence.

Martha's heart kept up a mad pace the whole time, and she gripped the pistol so tight that her palm began to sweat. They made it across the creek – Buster half hopping, half wading with the aid of Mister John – and back to the other side.

Their eyes darted all around them. They kept their ears perked, listening anxiously for any sounds of movement. They were all given a nasty start when a real wolf scampered by somewhere far off. Their torches revealed it to be a Mississippi Red wolf; or so Mister John somberly pointed out. The poor thing looked more frightened of them than they were of it. It was just a scavenger, Louis muttered. Most people came to these woods to hunt them for sport. "Bet old Sheriff won't go so easy on huntin' in these woods if he saw what that demon dog did to Fletch and Lenny…" he muttered.

Martha saw Buster and Earl exchange somber glances. Her heart reached out to them. It was starting to settle in, what had happened to their brother. What their brother had become. Or perhaps they couldn't even wrap their minds around that part just yet. All they knew was that their brother was gone.

Her mind was split in two. Half her concentration was bent on keeping up with the moonlight and getting to safety as quickly as possible. The other half was devoted to The Doctor. She worried for his safety as equally as hers…perhaps more so. She wished she was with him, or that he had stayed with her.

She knew better than that, though. He was The Doctor. He constantly reminded her that he had a responsibility. He held the safety and wellbeing of lesser species – non Time Lord – above his own. He would willingly sacrifice himself if that meant that Earth (or any innocent planet and its inhabitants) would be kept from harm. It was one of the biggest things about him that made her fall so in love with him – and made her afraid on a near constant basis that she would lose him.

She steeled herself against longing for him at her side, to guide them and maybe crack a dorky joke or two, and trudged on. She sensed when they passed by where the TARDIS was parked. She wanted to turn their course and head there – the sentient machine provided a warm beacon of safety that Martha had come to equate in her mind to home away from home. The best place to be in any situation.

But she didn't think The Doctor would want the added complication of introducing a gang of locals to the complex reality of a time machine spaceship that was a hundred times bigger on the inside than it was on the outside.

At a certain point, however, she began to relax. John announced that they were almost at the edge of the wood, and had but a little ways to go beyond that down a carriage road until they reached his home. That wasn't exactly why she felt better, somehow – safer.

She knew The Doctor had found a way to divert the werewolf (or were_wolves_, depending on Lenny's fate) away from them. She imaged him talking a mile a minute to distract them while he pulled off some seemingly impossible – and preposterous – scientific feat to send them back where they came from.

She was beginning to see the faint glow of street lamps ahead through the trees, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Then they heard a deafening howl.

They stopped in their tracks, and Martha's heart went to work on her again, double time.

"What was that?" she hissed, looking all around them, though she knew it was no use.

"What you think? One of them _things_!" someone whispered.

Mister John and the others turned back to look behind them, into the darkness. The darkness.

Martha's eyes darted upward, and she saw with dread that the clouds were obscuring the moon again.

Terror dropped into her stomach like a brick.

It began roiling around in her insides, making perspiration sprout at the edges of her hairline. But it didn't make sense. She knew – she just _knew_ that the wolves were being detained by The Doctor. How else could they have made it safely back to the road?

But then…what was that cry? And why did it sound so…she didn't let the word materialize in her mind. She swallowed hard, and it hurt.

"Let's not dawdle, y'all." Louis spoke up nervously, and all but Martha turned slowly back towards the edge of the wood, where they could see the dirt road kissing the thick, damp grass.

Martha stood facing the inky darkness, unable to see much of anything. Cold fear gripped her, but she couldn't turn away. She kept replaying an image in her mind of The Doctor emerging from the darkness, running as usual, with an apologetic smile on his handsome face.

_Well, _that_ plan didn't quite play out like I expected_, he would toss at her before grabbing her hand and leading her away. _On to Plan B, eh?_ _Come on, you; let's get out of here!_

But he was too far away, she knew. Far away across the other side of that creek, with those beasts. Without her at his side to watch out for him, to remind him to pause in his manic genius long enough to take small, but vital details into account. That was _her_ responsibility.

But she was here, facing the darkness. No Doctor. Just one, deafening, terrifying howl of rage and agony that belonged to one of those things. She could not let her mind go any further than that. So she stared, waited, even though she knew it was no use. He would not come running through the trees. He was too far away. Even _he_ wasn't that fast.

A strong hand landed on her shoulder and she jumped clean out of her skin.

"Let's get a move on, Miss Martha. It ain't safe to stick around here." She turned, heart in her throat, to see Mister John bathed in shadow. She could barely make out his face or eyes, but she could feel the concern radiating off of him. "If your doctor friend ain't back my daylight, me and the boys'll go after him."

Silently, slowly, she nodded and allowed him to lead her to the road.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

_Bond with us…_

Well this was interesting.

_Bond with us, Doctor…_

The Doctor had had guests in his mind before, and every time it was a fascinating experience. Aside from the fact that these guests were always trying to destroy him or take him over, erasing who he was and using his knowledge and Time Lord consciousness to their own Machiavellian ends.

They never succeeded, of course. Oh, but this _was quite interesting_.

It seemed that the Haemovariform had evolved their wavelength technology quite a bit in the last hundred years. Well – nearly a thousand years from _now_, but a hundred since last he'd met them. The lupine cells were engineered to create a telepathic bond among their race, linking them all so they thought and acted as one. Almost. They followed one – the Alpha.

They had to bend to his will; anything he ordered was carried out with a single thought. Silently. Without so much as a hint to their enemies. Saved them the bother of sniffing out spies the manual way. Saved them the bother of worrying about spies at _all_, really.

Except that they had never entered the mind of a Time Lord before. So, he had that going for him, at least.

_Bond with us…join us…we must recruit. We must breed. We must feed. We must conquer. Join or die!_

Well, he'd heard that one before.

While The Doctor writhed and snarled, locked away inside the cargo car, every fiber of his being longing to bite down into some innocent throat and drink the warm, sweet blood that would come gushing forth – the Haemovariform consciousness attempted to overpower his own. Attempted to find the way inside so deeply that his will would cease to be his own and he would…what was it saying? Join or die.

He felt his own beastly strength coursing through him. Felt the bloodlust so acutely that it was truly painful. Felt the long fingers of lupine instinct caressing the corners of his mind, urging him, egging him on.

_Break out of this makeshift prison and join the others, Doctor…_

He would not. He could not. Martha…

Sweet, supple Martha with a body full of delicious, hot blood. He wanted to eat her heart. The heart that loved him.

No!

_Join…Bond…breed…feed…!_

No, no, no. Not Martha.

_You cannot resist…you cannot defect…we are one…we are one…bond with us…_

If he had to listen to this all night, he might gag. He _was_ gagging. He writhed, threw himself into the hard metal of the car. Growled, salivated, flexed his claws…he wanted blood. He wanted flesh. It was agony. It was beyond any need he'd ever felt before.

Dawn. Dawn was his salvation. He could resist – _had_ to resist – until dawn.

In the meantime, while he still possessed some sliver of self-control, he would do a little investigating. Use this wavelength bond to do some probing of his own. Find out what West Point Mississippi was in for.

_Your wavelength works both ways_, he thought, not really caring if it could hear him or not.

He reached out with his mind, and oh it was difficult. But he surged on. He could feel the lupine consciousness slinking about in his brain like a many-tentacled creature in some dark, dank, slimy lagoon.

He did his best to ignore it. His massive chest heaved in the darkness. He wanted out!

No, go forth Doctor, and find a weakness.

He did something that he hadn't done in a long time. Something he hadn't done since Sarah Jane. He found a hand in the darkness. Saw a face. He avoided thinking about the flesh and blood that belonged to that hand; that face. He avoided thinking about the other face he knew he might conjure had she not been taken away from him.

He let his mind's manifestation of Martha's smiling, trusting, perpetually curious and impressively clever face lead him forward. It was just another one of their adventures, even if she wasn't really with him and he was on his own with nothing but a vivid memory of her.

_Martha…your Martha…feed on her. Breed her for us. Use her…bond with us._

The bond, that was it. Something about their bond. Something about…the Alpha.

The Doctor and 'Martha' crept on, further…further into unchartered territory. He was getting closer to something; he could feel it. Underneath the sheer carnality that breathed and snarled along with the beast he had become, he felt his normal, clever self stumbling onto something revealing.

_What about this bond, Doctor?_ Martha would ask in that curious way she always did. He could just picture her brow creasing in the dark as she attempted to figure it out on her own. She needed help most of the time, with a word from him, but then sometimes she did just fine on her own. Lots of times, actually. He wanted to smile at that. The beast snarled instead.

'_If there _was_ an Alpha, why would that wolf have listened to you? Even if your telepathy interfered with that signal thing, shouldn't the Alpha have known and been able to order it to attack? It couldn't have obeyed you if it has to obey its leader.'_

_Yes! Martha, you're a marvel!_

That was it! They had no Alpha. The mission – the mission they were on, aside from recruiting human hosts, was to replace the Alpha they'd lost. He wanted to laugh at that.

The beast roared instead.

_Bond with us, and we shall find the Alpha together, Doctor. And we shall return with him, and we shall breed, feed, conquer…_

_Oh, belt up, you._

He was momentarily stricken with blinding pain as the Haemovariform gnashed its telepathic teeth at him, attempting to block him out. But it could not go on with its bonding diatribe if it did that. And the mind of a Time Lord would be very valuable indeed. Warfare, knowledge of the intricacies of temporal space, leagues of species memorized and catalogued, the power to manipulate the Vortex in a way they hadn't yet mastered in all their existence…

Still, they couldn't afford to make him the Alpha. That was a one-way ticket back to a losing war and off this planet.

Who, then…? He probed.

He met with a veritable fortress of resistance, and it was painful. It mingled with the already unbearable bloodlust and he thrashed around inside the car, heaving and snarling and snapping his jaws. He wanted out. Out! He wanted blood!

No…no, just a little further. Be still, and just a little further. It would take all of his concentration, now. Every ounce. He gathered the mental fortitude he would need, as the Haemovariform slithered around, desperately seeking a weakness in his consciousness. While it prodded through his memories, showing him pain and loss and loneliness that he had carefully avoided thinking about for a very long time, he countered it by stretching his telepathic abilities farther than he usually had to.

And then he found it.

The way in. And there was a mountain of information for the taking.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

'Gist' was spelled wrong.

Martha thought, absurdly, that The Doctor would instantly notice and point that out. He sometimes had a tendency to be rude about things like that, without realizing it. She usually had to nudge him or clear her throat. And he would murmur under his breath: "I'm being rude again, aren't I?"

But he wasn't with her. He was far away, defending this town and the people in it from ferocious werewolves. Oh, god she hoped that he was alright. Her heart clenched as she and the others came upon Mister John's yard, where a rickety sign announced: **GYST House. Speak to Mister John or Sweet Mama for room and board.**

"Lordy, I ain't never thought I'd be so glad to see the GYST house!" Louis exhaled as they entered the gate and limped, exhausted and spooked, past the rickety sign.

Martha leaned closer to him as they trudged up the dry, brown front lawn. "What exactly is the GYST House, Louis?"

He grinned wearily at her. "The 'get yo shit together' house, mama." She made a face and he gave a wheezy chuckle. "Negroes from all over come here to get they shit together, see. Times is hard, and these white folk don't give us nothin' we don't scratch and claw for. So Mister John and Sweet Mama take some of the strain off with beds and food for whoever's in need."

She nodded distractedly, gazing up at the three story white house. The paint was chipped and flaking, she could see even in the dark. The front porch was wide and seemed to wrap all around the outside perimeter. It was lined with rocking chairs and a porch swing.

The window shutters were closed, all but one. Warm, welcoming light came through it. Squinting to see inside, Martha could tell it was a kitchen.

There was a chicken coop somewhere near by (she could hear them), just around the corner towards the back yard, which she glimpsed seemed to stretch on for yards. A field.

Two figures stood on the porch. One a short, matronly black woman wearing an apron and a head scarf with polka dots on it, covering all of her hair. She was barefoot. The other was a tall white man – he was wearing a badge that gleamed in the light coming from the kitchen window.

Martha felt simultaneously anxious and relieved to see him.

As they got closer, the woman and the policeman came down from the porch. He tried to cut across her to the front, but she dipped around him and wobbled on her short legs towards Mister John.

"Oh, my boys! Ya'll made it back safely…oh thank the Lord!" she gushed, reaching up to hug Mister John tight around his neck. The officer stopped and sighed patiently, letting her do her motherly thing, as Martha could tell nothing he said or did would stop her.

She reminded Martha somewhat of her own grandmother, who died when she was eighteen.

Mister John locked eyes with the copper, even as the woman (Martha assumed this was Sweet Mama) hugged him and kissed him. Sweet Mama moved on to the other boys, and Martha could see tears glistening in her kind eyes. "But, where is your brother, Buster! What happened to you boys out in them woods! Heaven have mercy, and who is _this_ little thing?"

She stopped in front of Martha and put her hands on her hips. Martha gave her an awkward smile, shifting on her feet. She suddenly remembered that she was still holding the pistol. Louis reached for it and she handed it to him without hesitation, glad to be rid of it. In hindsight, it seemed rather daft to be carrying it in the first place.

"I'm Martha, ma'am," she said to Sweet Mama politely. "Martha Jones."

"Well, Martha…pretty young thing you are…where you from, girl?"

"Em, London, ma'am. Me and The Doctor are visiting from…" she trailed off. The Doctor wasn't here.

"A doctor? Here in White Station? Lord, bless you, he's not in them woods, is he?" Sweet Mama, suddenly alarmed, turned to Mister John with her hands on her heart. "John you didn't leave the man out there, did you? Is he with Lenny? Where's Walter?"

"Now, hush, Sweet Mama…" John muttered, still in a staring contest with the police officer.

The man was wearing regular clothes, but that badge cloaked him in an aura of authority. Even Mister John's commanding presence seemed to deflate somewhat in the face of it, though he still stood straight, head held high, eyes unafraid.

"Deputy Morris. What can we do for you, sir?"

Deputy Morris moved forward a little, hands rested on his gun holster. The kitchen light was on him now, and Martha got a better look at his face. She had expected an expression of coldness, perhaps even of cruelty. But he just looked weary and a little sad, she thought. He sighed.

"John…now you know I can't have you traipsin' around in those woods carrying weapons. Anybody see ya in there, and it'd be hell in a handbasket."

"We had just cause, sir." John spoke for all of them, respectfully but confidently. "Some giant creature killed Percy Daniels, we went after it."

"Percy Daniels was attacked by a wild red wolf, John. Last I checked, it don't take six men and two rifles to deal with that. And 'sides that, you know good an' hell well ya'll ain't allowed to hunt in those woods."

"Not even when the thing that killed our friend came out of 'em?"

Again, Deputy Morris sighed sadly. "Not even then, John. You're lucky it was me and not the Sheriff that come out here. Now, you know I got to confiscate them guns. Hand 'em over."

"It wasn't no red wolf, Deputy…" Earl muttered thickly. He finally looked the deputy in his eyes.

"What was that, Earl?"

"I said, it wasn't no red wolf. It was ten times bigger an' it 'bout ripped Walter and Lenny's heads off. It got 'em – almost got us. We tried to blast it to kingdom come, but…"

He shuddered. Martha watched the exchange without breathing, she realized. She exhaled quietly as they all watched Earl.

"Weren't no takin' that thing down. Naw sir, not at all."

"That so?" Deputy Morris considered him. He frowned and turned to Mister John again. "John, that's your story?"

John nodded once.

"You say Walter Fletcher and Lenny Wilkes were attacked and killed by this animal, too?"

"Yes, they were." Martha spoke up, summoning the authority and courage that The Doctor wielded so effortlessly.

Morris' eyes landed on her for the first time.

"Who are you, girl?"

"Martha Jones."

"How'd you find yaself here, Martha Jones? And who is this doctor you say you were with? Where is he?"

"He's…" Martha clenched her jaw, fighting off her worry. "He's gone after the…the animal." She couldn't say 'werewolf' – not without sounding like a complete nutter.

"He armed? Blacks ain't allowed to hunt in these woods – John and his boys here know that perfectly fine." He darted his eyes disapprovingly at John before appraising her again. "But seein' as how you ain't from here, all I'll do is take yours, cut you some slack. _Slack_ – John – that I'm willing to extend if you promise me you won't go near those woods again with weapons!"

He was weary, this one, but he was merciful. Still, he raised his voice like an exhausted parent. She wondered if this was a good cop, bad cop scenario. If the Sheriff was much worse.

"That won't be necessary," she spoke before John could. "I'm not armed, and neither is The Doctor."

"Damn fool…" Earl muttered.

Martha ignored him. "Plus he's…well he's white. So even if he was armed, it wouldn't be illegal, would it?"

Morris looked on her appraisingly again, up and down, and sighed. "You work for him?"

She fought off another wave of annoyance. "No. I just travel with him. As his companion."

He scoffed. "Okay. Well, if he's in there with a wild bear-"

"Wasn't no bear!" Earl snapped.

"Shut that big mouth of yours, Earl Wilkes, or I'll drag your black ass down to the jailhouse, and I won't be nice about it, you hear?" Morris barked. Martha was appalled, but no one else protested. John moved his head in Earl's direction, and without looking at him, silently bade him be quiet.

Earl clenched his jaw and looked away at a patch of dried grass.

"Now _look_." Morris put up his hands and planted his feet. "The way I see it, you got two options: hand over those weapons, get inside and stay there, and let me handle this animal situation." He surveyed them forbiddingly for a second before continuing: "Or I have to call for the Sheriff and you know good an' well he'll start crackin' skulls. Which one of those two you lookin' to play out? Speak now."

"What about my brother?" Buster spoke for the first time. "What about Fletch and this girl's boss?"

Morris hocked and spit in the grass. "I'll see to it they're found. Come round again when there's news. Best I can do. If there really is some bear or wolf out there, we'll find it, kill it, and there won't be no other kick up about it, got that?"

No one spoke a word.

Morris looked at Martha again. "As for you missy, if your travelin' companion is still out there on a wild goose chase, I'll need to have a talk with him about gettin' himself mixed up with this bunch. When I come back with him, I suggest ya'll keep moving, or else he can board up in West Point until you're due to be on your way."

"You shouldn't go out there," Martha told him, ignoring the way he mockingly said 'companion' and unabashedly suggested that The Doctor should board in West Point because he was white. Being with The Doctor brought out her instinct to protect all life, as being trained to be a doctor did. She had to warn this man.

He cocked his head at her. "How's that, now?"

"Because the thing that attacked us is far too fast, far too strong, and far too clever for you to deal with. Trust me."

"I thank you for your concern, girl, but you should let the law handle things from here on. Just like John and his boys here, should've. Now get inside and I _mean_ it, John. No more huntin' parties, are we clear on that?"

Mister John looked for a moment as if he wanted to say something that might get him into trouble, but instead he nodded just once, as seemed to be a thing with him.

"Good. Hand me over those firearms, boys."

Begrudgingly, the men with guns handed them over carefully to Deputy Morris. Arms full of weaponry, he turned and stalked off towards the gate.

"Deputy!" Martha called before she could stop herself.

He stiffened with what she could tell was annoyance, and turned. She could see that he was a good man, even if the time he was born in made him prone to a certain way of thinking. She took a deep breath and pushed on.

"If you do go out there…please…stay in the moonlight."

"What's that nonsense she's saying?" He squinted incredulously at Mister John. Mister John did not look willing to clarify.

Martha continued. "Stay in the moonlight. Trust me, please. It…the animal…doesn't seem to like it in the light very much. It might help you catch it, em, quicker," she made up off the top of her head.

He looked at her with mystified amusement for a second and then nodded before turning his back on her again. "Don't let me catch any of you out in those woods again tonight, John."

And he was gone, probably headed for some vehicle that she couldn't see. A few seconds later she heard a horse neighing, and the creaking of something wooden, and then the echoing sounds of hooves on dirt mingled with wheels turning.

She turned back to see everyone watching her.

"That cracker ain't gonna look for my brother…" Earl fumed. "He's gonna take his fat white ass home to his fat white hussy and keep our guns for _hisself_!"

"Calm down, Earl," John said. He looked exhausted. "Come on inside, ain't nothin' we can do about it right now."

Martha peered across the road as the men all shuffled up to the porch. She looked into the trees, her heart searching for any sign that The Doctor would walk out of them, alive and well. She couldn't escape a nagging feeling that _something_ had happened…

"Martha, is it?" Sweet Mama was standing next to her. She reluctantly tore her eyes way from the road and nodded at the elderly caretaker. "No use goin' against the deputy, honey. Not even John wants the Sheriff to come chargin' over here. He's a devil, that man. Mister Morris is ten times better, he was raised in the church."

"Yeah…" Marth muttered, still distracted with worry.

"Why don't you come on inside and take somethin' hot to eat? Drink of lemonade? I makes it myself. It's real good. Pretty girls like us gotta keep our figures up, don't we?"

Martha smiled softly at her. "I don't think I'm very hungry, ma'am."

"Ohhh, sure you are!" Sweet Mama took her hand, squeezed it encouragingly, and began to lead her inside. "Sweet Mama's cookin'll make you feel right as rain, you'll see. And when your doctor friend gets back, we'll feed him up good, too! Don't you worry your pretty self about him, child." She patted Martha's hand as they ascended the porch steps. "Sun's almost up…light's about right…he'll find his way back."

Martha allowed herself to be towed inside and fed. The food was delicious, and the lemonade was refreshing, but the worry did not go away. She made up her mind to sneak back out and look for The Doctor the second she could slip away.

She just hoped she would find him grinning, if a bit disheveled, and not…she didn't let the thought complete itself.


	7. Chapter 7

**VII.**

He was crashing. Tearing through space, blazing a trail of temporal matter in his wake.

A shrill, ominous alarm sounded from the small pod ship's control panel.

"Five hundred thousand kilometers to impact." A serene, female voice sounded over the alarm.

He had been ordered to return to Homan, ordered to warn the Senate of the impending invasion by the Clade general army. The Clades were merciless. The Haemovariform were being slaughtered, despite their unique defense system.

His ship was crashing. Blown off course by a Clade fighter craft. The hyper drive was hit, and now he was crashing towards an alien planet light years away from the war. He had to complete his mission. He had to return to Homan, report to the Senate. The Alpha had been assassinated, and now chaos reigned on the planet Krumas, in the Arch System where the war raged.

The soldiers, leaderless, where struggling to hold off the Clade onslaught. If he didn't return with a new Alpha, all would be lost.

But he was not on course to Homan now. Now he was displaced – out of time, out of space, out of range. He was crashing towards…Earth. The child planet Earth, a thousand years earlier than the time of the Clade invasion.

What would he do?

"Four hundred thousand kilometers to impact."

He locked into the mainframe, reaching out with his mind, and gained access to its archives. He scanned through the images and data of the planet Earth, looking for conditions in which he might survive, and find a way to continue his mission.

"Evasive maneuver engaged." The voice announced. The ship veered, and suddenly the child planet's moon was before him. Large and gleaming white on one side, pitch black on the other.

The moon was key. He jettisoned the signal pod. It had been damaged when the ship was hit, but it was still functional. He would need it if he was to assume a form on this planet. At the moment, he existed as nothing more than consciousness. The ship was his body, and he shared his 'mind' with the mainframe.

"Signal pod ejected. Course to Earth moon locked. Three hundred thousand meters to impact with Earth."

He searched more quickly now, thousands of pieces of information flickering by with each second. What time was he crashing toward? What place? Then he found it. Northern America, Southern region; the planet's early twentieth century. He searched through hundreds of catalogues of information about the time and region.

"Two hundred thousand meters to impact."

He would be crashing through the outer atmosphere soon. He thought quickly, still searching. He had no time to lose. He would activate a rescue beacon. It would take many, many years to reach Homan, but perhaps by then he could make due with what was being given to him and complete his mission.

Earth was home to humans. The human species were acceptable candidates for wavelength bonding. They were perfectly fine hosts. He could set up a small breeding operation, build an army with which to return to Krumas – where the Clade army might be caught off guard. One lone messenger solider they thought they'd done away with would return with leagues of fighters, all the better to outnumber them and drive them back.

The mighty Haemovariform would be victorious yet.

Perhaps he could even find an Alpha.

"One hundred thousand meters to impact. Request collision coordinates."

He searched. Thousands of faces, hundreds of files on human kind. One name stood out. Made him pause. Perhaps it was that he was running out of time. Perhaps it was that he was clinging to a plan that was desperate at best. But the name made him stop, and he scanned the information that accompanied it.

The name was Wolf.

He rifled through the file. Charismatic. Imposing. Intimidating. Perseverance in the face of oppression. A figure of reverence for a mass number of the human population. If his people revered him, he could lead them easily once they made the bond. Excellent.

White Station, Mississippi.

"Collision course laid in. Fifty thousand kilometers to impact."

The time line was a disadvantage but perhaps he could begin his work, recruiting soldiers, and wait the Wolf out. It would take a full rotation cycle of this planet's moon before he could get to the Wolf. But by then he could at least begin the process of infecting hosts.

Once the Alpha was found and went through the bonding process, however, they would be unstoppable.

By the time the Senate's rescue ships arrived, if he was not hindered in his work, countless thousands of soldiers could be ready to return to Krumas and overtake the Clade army.

"Collision stabilizers failing. Forty thousand kilometers to impact. Thirty. Twenty. Ten thousand kilometers."

He passed through the atmosphere.

With his mission set, he waited. He began to fall faster and faster, having passed into the atmosphere, where the gravitational pull tripled. He scanned the area around the impact zone. Two townships, separated by a body of water and a narrow wood.

He was able to activate the cloaking device, disguising him from human notice, as he plummeted towards impact. The serene mainframe voice counted down as he fell.

"Five hundred meters. Four hundred. Three hundred meters. Two hundred. One hundred meters to impact."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Percy Daniels and his friend 'Slick Tony' Stiles had snuck into the woods to smoke a joint down by the creek. They brought a little moonshine and walked lightly with smiles on their faces, talking excitedly about the weeks to come. Slick Tony had just breezed on into town from Tennessee, and they were walking back from the train to Mister John's GYST House, where Tony would stay and make a few duckets working the juke joint as a piano player. Between the two of them, they were confident that in a year or so, they could save up enough to move up North.

The Haemovariform neither knew nor cared of Percy and Tony's dreams and ambitions. He was crashing. He had a mission to carry out. The boys were indeed in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Tony rolled the joint, and the boys sat perched on the bank, obscured by the shade of the trees.

Tonight was the last night of a full moon. The signal, though damaged, was in place.

The boys didn't see anything, but they heard the ship hit the water. The impact made a giant splash, only a yard or so away from them. The clouds parted, and the moon shone brightly on them, allowing them to see the water settling back in place.

Tony spoke with the joint bobbing between his lips, asking Percy _just what in blue hell was __**that**__?_

Percy suggested they investigate.

A little ways further, Mister John was riding along on his horse. He was just arriving home from his job picking apples for Edward Lacey. He heard the screaming clear across the wood, and he knew instantly that it was his boy Percy. The boy who saddled his horse for him in the mornings, the boy who wanted to own his own juke joint one day, the boy who wanted Fletch to teach him to read, the boy who he had come to love like a son.

That boy was screaming.

He tethered his horse, grabbed his pistol from concealed under a rock hole near his mailbox, and hauled ass into the woods. Earl Wilkes and Walter Fletcher were picking their teeth on the porch, having just had their bellies filled up with some of Sweet Mama's cooking. Earl had seen Mister John's horse coming around the bend in the road.

They heard the screaming too.

Without even waiting for Mister John to get his gun, they started running towards the sound of their young friend's horrified screams.

When they reached the creek – hours before Martha and the Doctor would arrive in the TARDIS a quarter mile further down the bank – they saw Percy being…_fed on_…by an enormous beast. They didn't see Slick Tony; didn't know or care of his arrival. Of his plans with Percy. Of their innocent detour to get high by the creek at night. Didn't notice that the wolf was wearing human clothing, albeit shredded to almost nothing. Things like that are hard to take heed of when your friend is being ripped apart.

All they saw was a giant demon dog feasting on their friend. The moonlight was so bright they didn't need their flashlights. Mister John shot at it; it snarled and a second later it was gone. Just gone.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

He hadn't realized how famished he would be, having taken a human host. The transformation was much slower with humans. Their physical makeup needed to be rearranged – mutated – to accommodate him. The other human's blood was wafting on the air, a heady aroma that would not be ignored. In a moment of blinding bloodlust, he attacked.

Now he needed to get his bearings. The other humans had a weapon. Retreat seemed the best course of action until he could properly assess what damage their weapons would do to him. He soon discovered – nothing, much. His tissue was regenerative – an odd side effect of using a human host? Their natural healing abilities accelerated by the transmutation? He wasn't a breeder; he didn't quite understand. But no matter. It worked in his favor.

The human's mind, the one he used as host, was deadlocked in a loop of terror and confusion, from his last waking moments as he was taken over. He caught snatches of memory and conscious thought, but they were easily ignored.

He had only been on this child planet Earth for a short while, but already he could see its potential. Millions and millions of ready hosts, and those who would not experience the bond could serve to feed on.

He licked the blood from his jaws. Now his mission would begin.


	8. Chapter 8

**VIII.**

Martha finished setting Buster's ankle and clapped her hands against her thighs before standing up.

"There. Just try not to put too much pressure on that, and in a few days you'll be good as new, mate."

"Mightily obliged, Miss Martha." He examined his bandage. "Travelin' with a doctor, you picked up some thangs, huh? Sweet Mama don't even dress wounds like this, here. Don't tell her I said so." He winked at her.

"Secret's safe with me." She tried to smile reassuringly at him, but all she could muster was a really quick nod of her head before she had to turn away. She was consumed with worry and anxiousness – she needed to get out of here.

Not that it wasn't nice, this place.

She'd only been here for a short while, perhaps a few hours, but she was already becoming used to the atmosphere. It was warm, and homey, yet frayed around the edges – sturdy, solid. A home for the homeless. The occupants here were mostly men, from all walks of life. They all came out and most everyone gathered in the sitting room, which was decorated with a mother's care. Old, patchy couches and armchairs with fading floral patterns and lace dusters, bibles, little black angel figurines, heavy floral print curtains, portraits of Jesus and various African American art, either bought cheap or painted right here as a trade for shelter…

Each room had its own distinct smell. Mostly, it was different levels of an old-timey, spicy smell that reminded Martha of her grandfather's hair grease. The kitchen smelled wonderful of course, as it seemed that Sweet Mama constantly had something cooking in that large, iron, wood-burning stove.

Sweet Mama herself was something else, too.

Martha got a closer look at her whilst she was being fed in the kitchen. The woman was just as sturdy and frayed around the edges as this old house, but Martha could tell she was the heart and soul of this place. Her eyes were deep and kind, crinkling in the corners when she smiled. She had a bit of a limp, and she was very short; shorter than Martha, even. She hummed while she cooked, sometimes adding a chorus to her song. It sounded like some ancient church spiritual. Her hands were wrinkled and smooth at the same time. Worn in from years of working. She had very welcoming, soothing-looking hands. She instantly put Martha more at ease, even with the raging need within her to run back into the woods in search of The Doctor.

It was bloody surreal, to say the least. Martha never got over that feeling when she and The Doctor found themselves in the past. Even in…1913…as much as she hated it, she was simultaneously fascinated by it. Everything smelled different, the textures were different, wood was thicker and heavier; tea was stronger; the hours seemed longer and her body felt different in the scratchy clothes. Even her hair behaved differently.

It was hot in the house – it must've been the adrenaline from before wearing off, because before now she hadn't really noticed that Mississippi in May was sweltering.

Martha stood in the sitting room by the window, her eyes darting out towards the edge of the wood across the road, hoping to see The Doctor sauntering forth with his hands in his pockets and a grin on his face.

She fanned herself with an actual fan – a real deal, Southern church lady fan – lifting her hair from her neck to cool it off. There was a record player sitting in the windowsill near her, softly playing a crackling, somewhat ethereal tune that sounded like "early" Billie Holiday, but the title on the record said "Lovely Lucile Sings for You.'

It was a real, proper 1930s record player, too, complete with a giant gramophone horn thing.

The men were all discussing the events of the night, ranting about the Sheriff and Deputy Morris. Sweet Mama interjected a few times as she served them from the kitchen – Martha thought to herself that perhaps the woman was always cooking because she was tending to a house full of grown men with insatiable appetites.

"Now, don't you speak ill of ole Deputy Morris, Charles Hudgeons." She chided one of the boarders, a light-skinned black man with red freckles peppering his cheeks and nose and thick reddish-brown hair. "He was raised in the church – my sister Hattie raised that boy up from a baby. He's good."

"There you go, Sweet Mama, getting' all worked up over them white folks again. Your sister Hattie wasn't nothing' but a slave to the Morris', and I don't care what church he come from, he just as bad as Sheriff." Charles retorted in his raspy voice as he took a cup of coffee from her. "Just cause he don't carry round no lynchin' rope on his belt, that don't mean he wouldn't haul us all up by the throat – 'specially if Sheriff had anythin' to say about it."

"You hush talking that devil talk in my house, Charles!" Sweet Mama snapped, looking appalled.

Charles' expression softened and he sighed hard. Martha was impressed with this woman's ability to turn grown men into obedient boys with one look. "Yes ma'am…" he muttered. Then added after he'd sipped his coffee. "You know I don't mean nothin' by it…but you really think they gon' do anything about Percy? Or Fletch? Or Lenny?"

There was a heavy silence, as everyone's minds turned to the horrors that befell their friends and brother. Earl's jaw clenched, and Martha instantly realized that he was trying very hard not to cry. Her heart reached out to him, again.

She swallowed, and spoke up for the first time. "The Doctor will make sure they do."

All eyes turned to her. Martha was suddenly struck by the overwhelming level of testosterone in the room; it was weary and sweating, with the metallic scent of blood and the smoky odour of whiskey and coffee.

She was in the _past_, all right; in a place where women were either sexual objects or caretakers. Where she, despite the color of her skin, was very much an outsider.

And her heart skipped a beat for a second, but then she took a lesson from The Doctor, not to be intimidated by anyone in any time or place. He would face the room full of grieving, angry men with not so much as a modicum of uneasiness.

So she shoved on. "He wouldn't let what happened to your friends go unanswered. He's out there right now, seeing to it that whatever it was that attacked them goes back where it came from. It's what he does." She sighed, feeling their skepticism boring into her. "And he'll make sure your Sheriff and Deputy Morris do the right thing."

"Missy…" said Charles, resting a hand on his knee and peering at her like a father about to scold his child.

When he started speaking, Martha was surprised that it wasn't a straightforward insult. Instead, he began to tell a story.

"I had me a cousin, MuZette was her name. She was beautiful – just like you. Sang in the church. Every Negro from here to Tennessee was scramblin' after her; even the Pastor. Then she took up 'travelin' with some white man claimed he was a music man; clamed he had connections in clubs up North; claimed he was gon' make her dreams come true.

"Well, he told her all kinds o'stories…filled her head with nonsense. And _ooh, boy_ she was so high and mighty, traipsin' round the house talking about 'Mister Walker, this and Mister Walker that'…almost killed her mama, the way she was actin'.

"Like none of us was no good for her, no sir, she was with _Mister Walker_ now! And he was gon make everything alright."

Martha steeled herself. He had raised his voice, and she could see he was angry. So she waited for his point, even though she knew exactly what it was. As he was talking, the other men were nodding and muttering their agreement. Mister John stood in the doorway with his arms crossed and his head down. Sweet Mama looked as if she wanted to interrupt, but something else was holding her back. She left Martha to take the verbal lashing.

"Well that goody-good Mister Walker took my cousin away from home and we didn't hear from her for two years. Next thing, we get word she's working in the streets, sellin' herself…for good ole Mister Walker. She died a pneumonia 'fore we could get the fare together to get her home. And good ole Mister Walker made off with every penny she made for him…no doubt to sucker some other back woods, nappy headed, barefoot little gal willing to follow him anywhere."

You could hear a pin drop.

"Mister John told us about this _doctor_-" he spit out the word like it was foul, "-you 'travelin' with. And if its all the same to you, I'd rather put my faith in a blind chicken than put it in another good ole Mister Somebody like you got yourself there."

He sniffed and turned away from her to take another swig of coffee, evidently satisfied that he had made his point.

"Charles, you didn't have to talk to that child like that…" Sweet Mama uttered.

"No, it's alright." Martha stood as tall as she could, setting the little fan down on the table near her. "He has a right to be skeptical. He doesn't know me, or The Doctor. That's perfectly fair."

Charles and the others were looking at her now with anticipation, unsure where she was going with this train of thought.

She looked Mister John in the eyes, then Charles. "But if I were you, I wouldn't be so quick to judge. The Doctor is far more than this bloke who corrupted your cousin. He's far more than the Deputy, or the Sheriff. You may not trust him now, but you will. If anyone can make any of what happened tonight right again – it's him."

Without another word, Martha turned and walked out of the room.

The air on the other side of the doorway was instantly less stifling, and she breathed in deeply, catching a whiff of honeysuckle floating towards her from somewhere.

To her left was the doorway to the front porch. It was open, with the screen door shut. She walked through it, and emerged into the humid night. She heard crickets and chickens; felt a small breeze on her skin. She looked up. The moon was obscured, but it was more than that. The sky was brighter.

Martha fished her mobile out of her pocket. The digital time display told her it was half past five in the morning. She hadn't realized she'd spent so long inside. The sun would be rising soon, wouldn't it? That knowledge gave her a glimmer of relief.

She had to find The Doctor.

She went back inside and went to the kitchen, where Mister John and the boys had dumped their torches and peeled off a layer of damp clothes. Martha herself was still wearing her muddy jeans and tank top, though she set her jacket aside because of the humidity. She had been too anxious to think about showering, or accepting fresh clothes. Which was why she found herself standing a lot, rather than risk staining Sweet Mama's furniture.

Now she fished her TARDIS key out of the jacket's inner pocket, then retrieved one of the torches from the pile on the kitchen floor.

She turned to leave, and ran right into Mister John's imposing form.

His eyes were much more intense under the light of the lamps in the kitchen.

"It ain't safe for you out there by yaself, Miss."

"I'll be fine. I have to find him."

He clenched his jaw, as if he agreed with everything his buddy Charles had said out there. Martha prepared to shove his judgments aside, but then he sighed. "Look, I don't know who the hell that man is – but I know he ain't like the rest of the white folk out here. And you ain't like none of the women out here, either."

Martha tried not to be impatient; she stood and waited for his point.

"I seen things tonight…_strange_ things. Things that just don't make sense; I can't wrap my head around 'em. But I know people." He nodded at her as though she had asked him a question. "I've seen men come and go, in and out of this place, year after year – and I know what makes men who they are. And…well, he's strange like I say, but…I believe your doctor is good."

Martha broke into a smile, relieved that someone was on her side.

"But I still can't let you go out there alone." Her smile faded. "I'm comin' with you."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

As if waking from a deep, fitful dream, The Doctor came back to himself.

But he could still feel the presence of the Haemovariform lurking around in his mind. It was silent now, but still determined. Once The Doctor had uncovered its secrets – the circumstances of its presence on this planet; the crash landing, that first kill, the Arch System and the raging battle on Krumas – its reaction was to steadfastly continue probing his mind. It was obviously planning to wear him down; step by step, until he was susceptible to the 'bond' that would turn him into an obedient (though clever) soldier drone at the mercy of their precious Alfa.

And speaking of which – _the bloke they'd chosen as the Alpha!_ He couldn't wait to tell Martha…it was just…he wanted to laugh.

He let out a faint snarl instead.

That's when he realized that he wasn't truly himself. He was still a huge, bloodthirsty, ferocious wolf. Once that realization hit home, he roared in rage and flung himself against the sides of the empty train car.

Then he thought about it – how long had he been in here, fighting for control of his own mind; fighting against the ridiculous bloodlust? And why did the Haemovariform presence feel so...faint? Determined, still, for certain but…distantly so. Like an echo of the pain he'd been experiencing at first. And why could he suddenly think straight? Like he _was_ himself, only…well…considerably hairier.

Aside from the unpredictable instinct to growl and claw; the lessening though still disturbing urge to tear flesh and drink blood; he was experiencing longer and longer periods of lucidity. Of Doctor-liness.

His jaws peeled back from his deadly fangs when he noticed that the light had changed in the room. Well, there really was no light, but somehow it seemed…less dark inside.

His infrared vision was still there, but not as strong as before. And…his hearing perked up. If he weren't a giant wolf, The Doctor might marvel at the ability he was experiencing now to hear everything. What he heard was voices, far off.

"Hoist her up, Teddy," someone was saying gruffly a few cars down. "Let's be on our way by the hour."

He sniffed at the air. Blood. _**No**__ – ignore that. What else do you hear?_

Birds. Chirping birds. Cargo being wheeled or carried towards the trains. It was morning!

Or almost morning. Certainly enough of morning that he was feeling more and more Time Lord, and less and less lycanthrope monster.

The Doctor groped around with his massive claws in the darkness, trying to ignore the wave of ferocity that was creeping up on him as he caught another whiff of blood and human sweat on the air.

Someone then began pulling on the door to the train car he was in. He'd been so occupied by trying to find his sonic screwdriver (and ignoring his urge to rip throats) that he hadn't noticed humans approaching. The blood smell was overpowering now. He salivated.

"It's stuck!" some gravely voiced fellow was griping. He smelled like a porker. Like he ate nothing but salty meat and drank lots of thick, frothy, wheaty beers. "Goddamnit, Teddy I told you to inspect for riff raff last night! You lazy ni-!"

The Doctor roared, before he could help himself, silencing the fat fellow outside. He began to claw at the door, snarling and snapping his jaws. He had to get out.

"Stop it…!" Fatty was saying now. "Go tell him to stop the engines! Something…something is _in_ there! Go, _go!_"

The Doctor heard them running, and he was momentarily released from his famished daze.

He found his sonic.

He thought quickly. Light – he needed light to reverse the lupine transmutation. He clawed at his sonic, gripping it awkwardly, and pointed it at the opposite door from the one fatty and his employee were trying to open.

After a few seconds, the sonic waves had wrenched the metal apart. He shoved the door open a crack, and warm sunlight spilled in.

Almost instantly, The Doctor lurched forward, feeling bone-splitting pain shoot through his body.

He growled, falling to the hard iron floor of the car, hoping against hope that the two train workers were safely away. Then he began to change…rapidly, painfully, deliriously.

As the transformation ripped through his body, The Doctor heard another voice, and the train started moving. Seemed fatty's conductor had not heeded his warning in time. It moved along slowly – he faintly remembered that to keep themselves on schedule, train workers often started them up and walked along side them loading things as they went.

Back to that voice – there it was again. "I'm sure of it. He'd go to town. He'd go to warn the Sheriff about the danger."

It was Martha. Ha – she was worried about him, his Martha. He could hear it in her voice.

The Doctor felt the last wave of pain wash over him and he went rigid before falling in a limp heap on his back. His eyes slipped shut. He wanted to sleep…sleep…before he couldn't fight it anymore he reached a hand towards the open doorway above his head. The train kept moving, right towards her and whomever she was speaking to.

_Sleep…Martha…she'll see me…she'll find me…sleep….Martha…_

The last thing he heard before he slipped into unconsciousness was Martha's gasp: "Doctor!"

* * *

**Thanks to everyone who added this to your favorites, and alerts, and of course for reviewing. Having fun with this, and as I said it'll get better. I just have to get the necessary stuff out of the way - the who, the what, the why - before I really get into how this little adventure will affect The Doctor and Martha's relationship. You'll see very soon, promise. Thanks again! **


	9. Chapter 9

**Once again, i hope you guys continue to enjoy the story. This installment is what happened when The Doctor is finally found, from Martha and John's POV. Also, it's a bit of me establishing a friendship between John and Martha. **

* * *

**IX.**

Martha and Mister John set out into the woods in search of The Doctor.

He had somewhat of a stoic manner as they walked. Martha didn't mind admitting it to herself – he was a tad intimidating. At first they went in silence. Martha glanced up at the sky every now and then to check that it was still brightening; as if today would be the one day that the sun wouldn't rise, simply because _she_ was waiting for it.

Mister John led the way, cautiously. He may dislike Deputy Morris, but Martha could tell he was wary of being caught in the woods again after the officer's warning.

She felt a surge of appreciation, and sighed. "Listen – cheers for this."

He turned to look back at her, his eyebrow raised.

Martha smiled. "I mean…_thank you,_ Mister John. Really. I appreciate you coming with me. Your friend Charles is right – partially. You don't know The Doctor, and you have no reason to help me. So, it's really quite decent of you to do this."

He shrugged and spit at the ground. Martha grimaced. What was it with men from the past and spitting? When she and The Doctor found themselves in the Wild West, facing and defeating those horrible Clade things, the men (even the little boys) were constantly spitting everywhere, as well.

He spoke, drawing her out of her thoughts. "Your friend reminds me of someone I knew once."

"Who?" she stepped wide to keep up with him. He was as tall as The Doctor, though considerably more muscular. "A friend of yours, or…?"

Mister John shook his head. "He was just a man. A professor. He talked just like you and your friend."

"Oh, really? And he was a professor? Was he nice?"

He chuckled. "Well, he was dirty drunk most of the time, so I guess he was, in a way. He certainly didn't mind me when he got that way."

"How d'you mean?" She didn't know if she fancied him comparing The Doctor to an alcoholic.

They heard a noise in the brush, and he grabbed her. She gasped as he pulled her down to a crouching position in the grass. With no gun, Martha could tell he was on edge. He peered into the semi-darkness (the sky was bright enough now that they didn't need moonlight, for which Martha was getting more and more grateful). A fat little squirrel scampered by, and Martha breathed a sigh of relief.

They stood up slowly and moved on, both cautiously listening for signs of a bloodthirsty beast or angry coppers, or The Doctor.

"Mean he liked to talk to me; tell me wild stories about places he'd been; what he'd seen." John continued as if they had never paused.

"Bet that was pretty fascinating…" Martha continued to try to make conversation.

She didn't really know why; she just felt an urge to try to connect with this man. When he wasn't unintentionally being rude, The Doctor sometimes had this thing where he would speak to people as if they were old, dear friends. He wouldn't patronize them or lie to them, but he would be gentle; kind even; while telling them the plain, sometimes difficult truth. And they trusted him after that – completely. He just had a way about him.

Martha didn't think she was trying to emulate him, but it wasn't so bad talking to stoic Mister John all the same.

It passed the time, anyway – helped keep her mind off of worrying for The Doctor, or constantly checking to see if the sky had gotten brighter.

"For a young'un like me, sho it was." He told her. "'Specially cause he was one of the few white folk I ever really _talked_ to. They give me orders; slap me around; say they usual 'boy' this and 'boy' that…but the professor really talked to me."

"How old were you?"

"'Bout thirteen. I remember cause that's the year I finally got into books. Taught myself to read…took me seven good years 'fore I could read and write good enough get my affairs in some kinda proper order. Got me a proper account at the bank, got me some property, fixed up the GYST House when my daddy died…"

"Good for you. It's a really lovely place; reminds me a bit of back home, at my grandmother's in the country. "

"What country got you talkin' like that, Miss?"

They were nearing the TARDIS again. Martha longed for a shower. She looked up at the sky. It was a possibility, though slim, that The Doctor had stopped there for some reason before coming to catch her up. "Um, England. London, to be exact. D'you mind if we pop over there really quickly?"

He frowned in the direction she was pointing. "That leads down towards the bridge. What you wanna go down there 'fore?"

"Um, well The Doctor and I left our…transportation…just beyond that cluster of trees, there. I just wanted to check to see if he stopped by; see if that's what's taking him so long."

He stared at the cluster of trees, wary for a moment, before nodding his approval. Martha led the way this time. It occurred to her that Mister John would definitely be confused and have lots of questions when he saw the out-of-place, blue police call box sitting in the middle of the forest.

But she would simply not let him inside. She could deal with his questions about the outside; but she would have to slip in quickly so that he wouldn't see the ship's hidden depths.

"So, in your country, they must let people like us well enough alone, then." He muttered as they walked.

"Sorry?"

"I mean, no offense Miss Martha, but you seem rather…loose with yaself. Not that their ain't plenty of head strong women in Mississippi – I dare any man to mess with Sweet Mama on a bad day. And I got this gal, Lucile who comes round the juke joint to sing sometimes – that woman could sing the breeches right off a man…"

Martha turned around to face him, stopping abruptly and crossing her arms. "What, d'you think I'm like your friend's cousin, is that it? That The Doctor is using me for his own personal gain?"

He shook his head. "No…I was merely commintin' on the fact that ya friend don't treat you like somethin' he owns. I thought that might be the case at first, but then I saw how he was with you, even in all that chaos. The way he protected you, like you was part of his family." He shrugged. "Just seems to me like in your country, Negroes might not have it so hard, that's all."

Martha frowned, not really knowing what to say to that. "Well…I can say this: in my country people like me are afforded a lot of opportunities – equal opportunities – and we live freely, like everyone else. And that's because other people fought really hard and sacrificed to provide that for us. Same as in your country."

She felt like she was in secondary school all over again, giving a speech about race relations in front of her History class. She suddenly became embarrassed.

"Em…anyway, it's a nice place, London. Bet you'd love it there."

They marched on. When they reached the TARDIS, Martha expected him to show the usual signs of confusion and skepticism that most people had when they saw it. He stared at it, but said nothing.

"So, I'll just pop in and see if he's inside. And I may as well freshen up while I'm at it, maybe grab some supplies."

"Strange…"

"Right, I know. There's actually more room inside than you think," _though you certainly can't see it, it would literally blow your mind_, she thought. "The Doctor and I are quite comfy when we travel."

"Hmph." That was it. He nodded for her to go ahead and began to peer into the trees vigilantly again.

Martha watched him quizzically for a moment, then shook her head and pulled out her key. She got the door unlocked and slipped inside, careful not to open it too wide and risking Mister John seeing a glimpse of the huge console room.

Once inside, Martha sort of instantly knew that The Doctor wasn't there. The ship was massive, with corridor upon corridor filled with rooms, all of which she certainly had not discovered, even in the five months she'd lived here. Sure, it was _possible_ that he was bouncing about in one of them, but there was a certain absence of energy inside that told Martha this wasn't the case. She supposed it was because she spent so much time marveling at and cherishing that energy (that spark of excitement and urgency he exuded without even trying, no matter the situation) that made her so attuned to it.

She walked up the ramp towards the console and paused.

Martha knew that the TARDIS was a sentient vessel. She often caught the Doctor stroking her, or sitting as if deep in thought when Martha suspected he was really engaging in some kind of telepathic communion with her. Every now and then, she would feel calmer, or safer, or feel the like she wasn't alone in a room where she was the only person. Sometimes, before she could catch herself, she would speak out for no reason; an answer or greeting when no one had spoken. At least, not aloud. It was a strange feeling, talking to a ship, so she didn't do it often.

Except in 1913, when the TARDIS was literally her only friend who shared her memories and her worry for The Doctor. She could feel it, faintly like some kind of elusive sixth sense.

Now, she reached out and touched a few of the controls, running her fingers lightly along the odd shapes and knobs and dials. She sighed. "Where is he…?"

She felt the urge to move quickly all of a sudden, and knew in the back of her mind that it was the TARDIS telling her to hurry it up so she could go find their Doctor.

Martha obeyed the feeling, silently promising the ship (and herself) that she would do just that.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha didn't have time to shower. She simply stripped off her filthy clothes, knickers and all, and gave herself a quick wash off over the basin in her bathroom.

She toweled off and hurried to find fresh clothes. Martha put her hair up in a messy bun atop her head, followed by another tank top (this one white) and a clean pair of jeans. She pulled on a pair of comfortable trainers, in lieu of putting her boots with the short heel back on. They were murdering her feet after trudging through the woods all night.

She stifled a massive yawn as she packed a few toiletries into a nap sack, a change of undies and a hairbrush. Then she paused, somewhat puzzled. _You'll need it_, she just kept feeling…and she knew it was the TARDIS. Why would she need these things? Were they going to be _staying_ in 1940s Mississippi?

Martha swallowed hard at the thought. Instead of dwelling on it, she kept moving. Somehow found herself rushing down one of the corridors towards…The Doctor's room.

In all the time she'd been traveling with him, Martha had only ever glimpsed inside The Doctor's private sleeping quarters, usually when he was closing it on her after saying goodnight or emerging to say good morning.

She hesitated at the door now. Then she felt, with more urgency than before, she needed to get inside.

Martha opened the door and stepped in. She was momentarily transfixed, standing rigidly with the sack open in her hands, gazing around. The entire space _smelled_ like him. It was sort of overwhelming, how much a room could smell like a person. There were strange looking parts scattered about, as if he was building something that was taking him forever, and tools; only few of which she recognized. There were books everywhere, stacked along side tall shelves that held rows upon rows of them, all along the far wall and even behind his bed.

His bed. It was messy, and a stack of three lumpy pillows lay on the far left side, as if he had punched them into submission to support his neck and back as he read in bed. She got a very vivid vision of him, shirtless, reading glasses perched atop his long nose, slowly turning the pages of some thick, dusty tome…

_Move on, Martha._ She wasn't sure if it was her or the TARDIS nudging her into action once again.

She quickly scanned the room and spotted his closet. Martha was annoyed with herself for getting so distracted by how cute it was that his dresser was all a'shambles, with little knick knacks and things spread everywhere. Ties, underwear, socks, and tee shirts were stuffed into the drawers, hanging out sloppily, or strung along the mirror. Inside the closet, Martha was astonished by just how many pairs of Converse he had, in a rainbow of colors. Some colors, even, that she swore weren't available in any shop she'd been to. Likewise for his trademark, fitted suits. Several shades of brown and blue pinstripe, from slightly faded to deep and rich were hung neatly (surprisingly, after the state of the dresser) before her. There was one burgundy one that she'd never seen him wear before. _Quite right not to_, she thought, making a face. He had two black suits as well, which were in the very back – reserved for special occasions, no doubt.

Martha wasn't sure what the hell she was doing. She just started grabbing things, vaguely making sure all the pieces were there – trainers, jacket, trousers, tie (she didn't care if that matched, frankly). She found herself blushing when it came time to pick out underwear.

She stuffed everything into the sack and zipped it up. Martha turned to leave the room, but stopped short as she passed the bed again. Reluctantly, she turned to it. Took a step closer. She stared at it. Trying to memorize it, perhaps. Trying to imagine how the sheets might feel against her skin…if The Doctor's body was as warm tucked in these sheets as it was whenever he hugged her close to him…if these sheets smelled of him the way this room did…images she would never tell any living soul about began to flash, on their own accord, through her brain. Images of entangled limbs and warm skin and hot breath and…

Cor blimey, she was pathetic.

_Go Martha, before you start smelling his sheets or something, you crackpot._

That was definitely her, not the TARDIS.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

John stood staring at the large, wooden phone box.

As he had told Miss Martha earlier, he had indeed seen some strange things in the past few hours. Things he would not soon forget. This was one of them.

Part of him was full to the brim with questions about what he was looking at. In the stirring quiet of the small wood near his home, this odd structure sat emitting some kind of _presence_. It was odd enough that whenever he turned his head, the thing seemed to disappear from his peripheral vision completely. No, it was more that he could somehow…_feel_ something. Like he was being watched. Assessed, somehow. He had studied every inch of the perimeter surrounding him, and was sure there was no danger near, so it fell somehow upon this big blue box, that feeling of being…not alone.

Police Call Box, it read.

Miss Martha said she'd just get some supplies. Said she was comfortable, traveling with her doctor friend inside this big, blue, police call box. Even if he wanted to make sense of that, he didn't think he should try to. Something told him it was far too complex and maybe just a little dangerous for him to put the pieces together. After all, he had other things to worry about. Like catching up somehow with the demon that killed his friends. He knew, as Earl and the others did, that the White law in West Point didn't give a damn about a bunch of Negroes from the GYST House getting killed by what they assumed was a local red wolf.

The Sheriff, if given half the chance, would probably let it keep happening as long as no decent, god-fearing white folk were attacked.

They probably wouldn't even make sure to inform John when they found Fletch. They'd probably let him, Lenny and Percy rot in the so-called ice box in the small coroner's office attached to the back of the jailhouse for a few days. And if John came callin' they'd go _'ohhh, Walter Fletcher, is that right? He's back there alright; smellin' up my jailhouse. You best get him underground quick, boy.'_

The Sheriff was that cruel. And Morris was just as bad – he may not take part in his boss' cruelty outright, but by standing aside mutely, he was doing just as much damage.

Mister John felt himself getting heated, and hoped Miss Martha would get a move on.

As if he had summoned her with that thought, she appeared, stepping out of the blue box in totally different clothes. She was carrying a small bag that looked stuffed with whatever 'supplies' she'd gone in there for. Her hair was no longer hanging loosely down her shoulders, but pulled up in a disheveled bun that revealed the contours of her face rather finely.

And she _was_ fine.

With the skyline rapidly brightening with each passing few minutes, Mister John couldn't help observing that Miss Martha Jones was one _hell_ of a good looking woman. She was petit, but curvy in all the right places – especially her pert, apple-shaped rump.

The clothes she wore now looked in the same fashion as the ones she'd been in. The breeches were denim, like before, only dry and clean and…maybe a tad tighter than he was comfortable with. Not that he minded seeing her in them. And though the little white top she wore now was looser than the one before it, it somehow made her figure all the more attractive.

"All set! Sorry for the delay."

"No trouble at all, Miss Martha. Let's get a move on, though…"

"Right."

He wondered, dimly, as he watched her lock the doors to the box and make her way over to him hauling the bag over her shoulder…did that doctor friend of hers ever find his eye wandering? The way he looked at John last night seemed to suggest a certain level of protectiveness – or possessiveness. John made up his mind, thinking on it in the seconds it took for her to reach him and nod that she was ready to keep moving.

He meant what he had said – he had already made up us mind, seeing how the man looked after Miss Martha last night, that she meant more to him than just an indentured slave. The doctor was good, but he _was_ still a man. And black or white, anyone who spent a lot of time sharing a 'comfy' space with a sexy woman with an ass like a candy apple was bound to be tempted at some point.

John wasn't no fool – plenty of the white men in town found themselves cruising by the juke joint some times, looking out for loose sistas to tangle with while their wives was at home oblivious.

John chuckle to himself. Good man or not, there was no way this doctor could resist at least _looking_. John himself was finding it hard not to, especially in the waning light of early morning, when he could see her more clearly.

"What's funny?" Martha asked, struggling to keep up with him on her shorter legs. He had a tendency to walk faster when he was deep in thought.

He looked down at her seriously. "This whole pot o'beans, that's what. I'd be happy to wake up and find myself sittin' in my bed, and it's all just a dream…"

"I know the feeling," she muttered.

As they walked, John asked her some of the questions that were on his mind. "Your doctor's papers said he was an expert. He deal with troubles like this all the time?"

"Sort of, yeah."

"Strange way of carryin' himself…"

Martha grinned. "He is a bit…off, I s'pose. But that's what I love about him." She caught herself, and glanced at him sideways. "I mean, that's what makes him so good at what he does." She supplied quickly – but it was too late, he already caught it. She carried on quickly. "He catches people off guard, you know? And before they know it, he's fixed everything – always in the nick of time, mind you."

"That right?"

"Yeah…" she sighed. "I know it may not seem like it now, Mister John. But The Doctor is brilliant. He's a genius, and he'll figure a way to get rid of those things. I promise you. They won't hurt anyone else."

"What about you?"

"What about me, what?"

"What is it you do for him, you don't mind me askin'?"

There was a long fit of silence as she seemed to think over her answer. John kept his eyes on the trees, wishing he had his gun. "I'm there to remind him to slow down." Martha said after a long while. "I'm there to keep him grounded, but also to keep him company. I help him when he needs me. I help others when he needs to work things out on his own. I…I'm his friend, because…with the life he leads, he gets…lonely."

She looked straight ahead, her eyes narrowed to a far off place, her jaw a little stiff like she was expecting him to say something negative about what she'd just explained. He wasn't really surprised. Professor Thornton's girl might've said those exact words once upon a time, if she could speak English.

He looked at her for a moment, then nodded to the trees before them. "Figured as much." He grunted after a moment. They were at the bank of the creek. John jumped down the steep hill to where the water lapped at the edges of the trees.

He turned and helped Martha down by lifting her up in his strong hands and assisting her as she hopped down.

"That professor I was tellin' you about – he had a companion, too. African gal. Didn't speak a word of English. She was his servant, but she was a little more than that if you follow me. Took me a while to understand it, but I do."

Martha bit her lip. "The Doctor and I aren't…em…we-we don't, we've never…we're just…mates. Just mates, so don't get the wrong idea."

Mister John looked her over, considering the way in which she nervously insisted that there was nothing inappropriate about their relationship. He also caught the glint of disappointment in her eyes when she said it. He decided not to comment.

They waded across the creek, Martha cursing under her breath the whole way. He guessed she hadn't remembered that they'd have to do this again before changing into fresh threads. He had taken the bag from her and was holding it atop his head as they waded across.

When they reached the other side, they immediately retraced their steps to the clearing where the horrible events of last night took place.

They didn't find Walter, or Lenny.

Mister John stared at the bloody and burnt (from the gunfire) patches of grass for a moment, wondering if his prediction that the Sheriff and Deputy Morris had found the bodies and dumped them in the ice box was true.

Or if…something else happened…

"Your friend said 'if they turn'…" he faced Martha, his eyes boring into hers. "If they turn into one of those things, he meant."

Martha nodded faintly. "Yeah."

"What are those things? How does he know so much about them?"

She shook her head slowly, seemingly at a loss for words for a moment. "I'm not really sure…werewolves, I think?" She looked at him quickly, to see if he would call her crazy for saying it. He simply waited to hear more. "The Doctor says they're here on a mission. Probably to make more werewolves, sounded like. But why…I just don't know."

"Werewolves. Like in stories my daddy used to tell me…stories I used to tell…" he stopped, not wishing to go there. Martha's forehead creased slightly as she watched him stop himself from speaking further.

"Used to tell who…?"

He sighed. "My son."

"Oh." He could tell she wanted to ask more questions.

"His mama took him when I was out workin' one night. Ain't seen him since. He was barely six years old."

"I'm so sorry."

"She's his mama. She got a right. I was always workin', didn't have time for her, and sometimes not for him. I tried, but…" he felt emotion creeping up on him and forcibly willed it away again. "Anyway, he's gone so it don't matter. Let's go find your friend and get down to the jailhouse. I need to have a word with Deputy Morris."

"Okay, then."

They moved on.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

They were getting deeper and deeper into the trees, and the sun was getting closer and closer to the horizon. Martha was so relieved to see it – that meant, if everything she read or seen in the movies about werewolves was true, they were out of danger for the time being.

But that should mean that so was The Doctor. That should mean that he was on his way back to her – to _them_, she corrected herself. That should mean that they would run into him any moment.

But they didn't.

She looked up at the sky again. She wanted to check the time, but was wary of taking out her mobile in front of Mister John. "What time d'you reckon it is?"

He squinted up with her. "I'd say round six thirty, best guess. Sun'll be comin' up soon. Round seven or so. Least by the time we reach them tracks. They'll be startin' to load up the freight trains now."

They were almost to West Point, John was saying. Once they got to the other side of the wood, all they had to do was walk along the train tracks a bit until they came to the station. Then they'd be in what he called 'the White side of the creek', which was ironic, since the complete segregation of the two townships had the black population living in White Station, and not the other way around.

Martha had to admit – all this talk about race was starting to get to her.

She realized that The Doctor was right. It never bothered her before, and that was because before her experience in 1913, it really never came up. She had never been so acutely aware of her own skin color as she had been when she was scrubbing floors and tidying up John Smith's quarters and…watching him fall in love with the fair skinned, perfect, prejudiced Nurse Redfern.

And _this_ whole experience did nothing but make it worse, even though so far she'd been surrounded by her 'own people', as her mother would say. It was all 'white folks', this, 'that white man you travel with' that, and 'Negro' this and 'sista' that, and so on. It was so much a part of this place, of these people, of their every day lives, that it threw her. Living in London, where your accent mattered more than your skin color, she supposed she'd grown up a bit…oblivious. Her parents even stopped sharing their experiences from their childhoods, when things were different. They lived in a modern London, now, and their children were happy, not having to deal with what they went through. So Martha didn't think about it much, if at all. It shamed her, really.

And there was something else, too.

She often lamented that The Doctor seemed to have a taste for blondes…dainty, sweet, blonde girls like his precious Rose. Of course, that was just her projecting on the companion before her, but she couldn't help herself. She often looked at herself in the mirror – sometimes examining herself for hours, wondering how The Doctor saw her. Petit, cheeky, 'tough', dark-skinned, round bottomed Martha Jones who's hair would never ever be blonde. She had never seen a picture of Rose, apart from the rather attractive-looking drawing in John Smith's journal of Impossible Things. She wondered what the other woman really, really looked like – and sometimes Martha thought that she must be breathtakingly beautiful, and it really hurt.

Martha shook her head harshly, deciding to stop feeling sorry for herself and concentrate on the task at hand – finding The Doctor.

Mister John carried her bag without complaint, and Martha thought. What would The Doctor do…?

"It was obvious that werewolf was heading to West Point," she muttered. John turned slightly to look down at her as she talked to herself. It was getting easier for her to say 'werewolf' without feeling silly. "So The Doctor followed it. He said…it would be looking for new hosts."

"Host for what?"

"Hosts for…more werewolves, I imagine." Martha racked her brain, trying to remember everything The Doctor had said before they were separated. "Remember? He said something about having a word with their leader – _'their'_ leader, like there was meant to be more of them."

"Right. So, if Lenny ain't dead, that means he's a…host."

"Exactly." Martha stepped wide over an overturned log – the very same one The Doctor had leapt gracefully over mere hours before, unbeknownst to her. "And it was going after more. In the town. That's where The Doctor will be. He'll be trying to protect people from being attacked and turned into one of them."

"You think Deputy Morris has seen him, if he went to town after he left the GYST House, that is?"

"Maybe!" Martha brightened. "Maybe The Doctor got through to him, and the Sheriff. He has a way about him, I told you – people trust him. He knows what he's doing, even when he doesn't know exactly what he's up against straight away."

"Hm…" Mister John nodded again, hoisting her bag up on his shoulder.

They kept moving, Martha growing more and more certain that they would find The Doctor in town, holed up in some safe place, awaiting the sunlight with the authorities backing him up.

She quickened her pace, the anticipation of joining him again growing more intense as they neared where she could see the trees were thinning out. After a short while of brisk hiking, she could see the edge of the wood. Then she could hear voices and movement.

"We're nearly there, come on!" Martha exclaimed, half-jogging, half-power walking towards the noise.

Mister John kept up easily, having longer legs. "Be careful, Miss Martha – white folks in town won't be as welcomin' as you might be used to with ya friend."

They finally reached the tracks, and Martha noticed that just as Mister John had predicted, the sun was emerging overhead. He insisted that they slow down and make their way into town calmly, in an orderly, non-threatening fashion. Martha felt like she was going to jump out of her skin at any moment, her desire to see The Doctor's grinning face again was so acute. But she did as John asked, and slowed her pace.

She scanned the tracks as they walked. It looked pretty deserted, except for a few isolated sounds of people moving on the other side of one of the massive cargo trains, out of sight.

"You sure about this?' Mister John muttered.

They were momentarily distracted when one of the train cars began to rattle and shake, and someone yelled. "I told you to check for riff raff…!"

"What's going on…?" she asked, her interest peeked.

"Scragglers, catching forty winks before they load up…" he answered simply. There was a bunch of commotion, then the enormous train started moving, slowly. "Must've been drunk if they got themselves caught so easily."

Satisfied with his explanation, Martha sighed and they moved on. "No, I'm sure of it." She answered his earlier question. "He'd go to town. He'd go to warn the Sheriff about the danger."

"Stop it! Stop the engines! There's something in there!"

Martha frowned and turned around again. The train was moving, and the car that had been rattling just a moment ago was getting nearer. Except that it was open on their side, now. And something was sticking out of it. Martha felt the sun on her back as she stared at the pale shape hanging limply from the open train car, her heart rate speeding up. She squinted hard – there was something alarming and familiar about it as it drew slowly nearer. That, and the silver, glinting, wand-shaped object the pale thing was clutching.

It was a hand. The Doctor's hand. And it was clutching his sonic screwdriver.

"Doctor!" She gasped, her heart leaping into her throat. She started running.


	10. Chapter 10

**X.**

Martha tried not to panic.

She could hear the commotion on the other side of the train growing more frantic, and she knew she had to act quickly. "Help me!" she hissed to Mister John, who dropped her bag where he was standing and marched up to the moving car.

They walked quickly along side it, Martha acutely aware of the men now gathering on the other side, calling out to each other. Mister John wrenched the car door open further, and Martha felt her blood run cold. The Doctor was inside, unconscious. But that wasn't the worst part.

His clothes were ripped to shreds. His trainers were all split open and his suit was practically unrecognizable. There were streaks of blood coating long, ghastly looking rips down the front of his shirt. She saw the cuff of his long coat sticking out of the shadows. She jumped once, grabbing hold of it and pulling it towards her. Mister John set to work pulling The Doctor out.

"Oh god…" Martha had to swallow down a thick bout of nausea and despair as she saw how pale and limp The Doctor was – the sheer state that he was in. She gripped his coat in her hands, shaking her head. "No, no, please, please…not him…oh god let him be okay…!"

Hot tears blinded her and she angrily wiped them away. They had to hurry. The train was screeching to a stop and there were more and more voices now. They sounded like they were trying to heave the other door open, all of them calling and grunting at once.

"Steady yourselves!' Someone shouted. "And _pull!_ Pull, boys, _pull!_"

Mister John hoisted The Doctor's body over his shoulder, and Martha ran to grab her bag from the ground. She whirled around, momentarily stuck for what to do – where to go.

"Into the woods, Miss Martha!" John hissed. "'Fore they get through!"

"You hear that?" Someone bellowed. "HEY! WHOEVER YOU ARE, YOU'RE _**DEAD**_, STOWIN' AWAY IN MY TRAIN! AND YOUR MANGY DOG, TOO!"

"Let's _get!_" John ordered.

She nodded, wanting to sob at the sight of The Doctor's lifeless body hanging slack across John's shoulders. They darted back into the cover of the forest, and Mister John kept running, carrying The Doctor as easily as if he was a bail of hay and not a grown man.

"Teddy, get me my pistol! And someone call the Sheriff!" That same voice was doling out orders furiously, now as they ran. "Get that door open and get after 'em, boy!"

"Don't stop!" Mister John told her, and she ran, tears blurring her vision and streaming down her cheeks.

All along, The Doctor didn't move, didn't wake. His hand was as limp as ever. She had his sonic now, somehow getting hold of it in all the confusion. She clutched it for dear life, silently praying as she stumbled and tripped and ran along through the trees and thick foliage after Mister John.

_Please…let him be alright…_

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

They paused for breath, and so Martha could quickly examine The Doctor, in the clearing near the creek. Mister John lay him down in the grass and stood doubled over, breathing hard and sweating. His eyes darted all around them, looking out for the Sheriff and the train workers.

"They'll get the dogs after us," he panted, looking down at her urgently for a moment before continuing to scan the landscape. "We best hurry, Miss Martha. They can't catch us – they just can't. It's lynchin' for messin' with the train company's money…Sheriff'll just turn a blind eye."

Martha felt sick to her stomach at the meaning of what he was saying, but she merely nodded briskly and kneeled before The Doctor. She sniffed and wiped her face of tears, having calmed down somewhat.

She checked his pulse. With an intense wave of relief, she realized that it was there, albeit a tad too fast. Then again – she really had very little knowledge of his anatomy; that could be normal for someone with two hearts.

Speaking of which, just to be sure they were both working, Martha checked those too. She grimaced – she had to peel away the bloody, ripped shirt from his chest. She was surprised to find no evidence of the wound that had been the result of the ripping. The blood was on the shirt, but his chest was smooth. There was only his curly brown happy trail, emerging from his pants, skipping across his belly button, and continuing up to the crest between his pecks.

It was an alarming sight, even more so than if she had discovered deep, bloody gashes from a massive claw embedded in his skin.

She leaned her head down and pressed her ear to his chest. One heart working. She moved her head to the other side. Yes – two hearts, working fine. She glanced up at Mister John, ready to see puzzlement in his eyes as to her actions, but he was too busy keeping watch for trouble.

Martha knew they had to hurry, but she had to make sure he was okay. She checked him over again, lifting ripped fabric to examine different body parts; trying to find some source of injury, or…

Then Martha froze.

_If they have so much as a __**scratch**__…_

The Doctor's warning to her rang in her ears loudly. Her heart began to thump painfully in her chest, and she looked down at him, totally alarmed. He was laying there, his closed eyelids twitching with the activity of the eyes underneath them – . sleep. Frenzied-looking R.E.M. sleep. His chest rose and fell heavily, and he just lay there, looking like an innocent, albeit worse for the wear Doctor.

But there was blood on his shirt, and his shirt – along with the rest of his clothes – was ripped to shreds. She looked at his trainers. They looked liked something had clawed them open from the inside. Martha's alarm grew with every second. Her heart was beating a mile a minute.

She stared at The Doctor's pale, long toes, peeking out at her from the gaping gashes in his muddy red Chuck Taylor's.

She felt like she couldn't breathe properly as the full, horrifying realization washed over her in an ice cold rush.

The Doctor…_her_ Doctor…was a werewolf.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Miss Martha was just staring at the doctor, her mouth slightly open, and her eyes wide and frantic.

John didn't want to push her, but they had to get a move on, fast. He would be damned if he saw himself or her fall victim to a train company man's lynching rope. He didn't hear them right now, but that didn't mean they wasn't moving in this direction, especially if they had dogs.

He swallowed hard and decided to wake Miss Martha from whatever trance she was in.

"Hey, we gotta scram, woman! I'll carry him, now let's go."

Martha looked up at him, as if she didn't recognize him right off. Then she nodded faintly and reached to pick up that funny-looking silver stick she'd dropped in the grass beside her friend's body. She stuffed the doctor's long traveling coat in the bag she had and put the silver stick between her teeth.

She was shaking. It was barely under her control. John wanted to ask very badly what had her so spooked. He could see plainly that her friend was breathing.

He looked closer. Looked back up at her. She stared at him, that thing still between her teeth.

They stared at each other meaningfully for a moment. John, for a split second, had half a mind to leave the man here in the trees and let the Sheriff deal with him – grab Martha and drag her to safety. Away from the lynch mob he was certain was on its way. Away from what she and the doctor himself said was a serious danger to them both. If he was attacked – which John knew he had been, judging by the state of his clothes – then he was one of demons by now.

But the look in her eyes told him she would _not_ leave her doctor friend behind. She would probably stay and face the mob if she had to, but she wouldn't budge an inch without the unconscious, possibly demon dog possessed, white stranger at their feet.

Mister John's eyes darted to the trees again. He sighed, stooped, and picked up her friend again. He swung the lanky (yet surprisingly heavy) body over his shoulder and motioned for her to follow him.

They made it precariously across the creek. She held his feet and Mister John held his torso above the water. They made it up the hilly bank. Mister John could swear by then that he heard angry voices somewhere deep in the brush across the way. He didn't hear dogs just yet, but he didn't put it past them.

He urged them on.

Miss Martha looked like she wanted to rush her friend towards their blue box, but he shook his head.

"They got dogs, that means they'll follow your scent over there. I doubt that wooden box'll keep 'em out for long if they got guns. They'll blow you and your friend outta there, trust me."

She looked like she was going to correct him somehow, but seemed to think better of it. "But what if they find us at the GYST House?"

He looked straight ahead. "I'm hoping they give up before they reach that far, or…" He reached up and took off one of the doctor's shoes.

She made a noise of protest, but didn't move to stop him as he wound his arm back and tossed it. It sailed maybe a yard or two before skipping across a tree branch and falling to the forest floor.

"Maybe that'll throw 'em off. If they come knockin' we'll hide the both of you in my chicken coop. Dogs'll confuse the smell, and they'll be forced to look elsewhere…"

He knew that it was a thin plan at best, but he couldn't let her know that. He made his voice sound as logical and calm as possible, even though he was personally extremely worried that they _would_ come knocking. He remembered the last encounter he had with one of West Point's groups of angry townspeople…come after his brother for accidentally knocking a white woman down in the street.

All he was doing was looking for work. Didn't see her. Too preoccupied looking around. He was only sixteen. But he was big – boys was big in John's family. Knocked her down. Her dress flew up. Everybody saw what they wasn't supposed to see, including John's brother. She was embarrassed and furious.

She was the Mayor's wife.

They chased that boy clean across both sets of woods. His lungs was about to burst when he finally made it to the GYST house – just their daddy's house back then. They found him, though. Dragged him off. John never saw him alive again.

Sheriff pretended like he didn't know a thing about it. No evidence, he said. They kept his brother's body rotting in the ice box until he was unrecognizable. Until it was too hard to tell exactly how he died.

John felt his blood running cold with anger and despair. He thought of his own son. How, in a way, he was glad his mama had taken him away from White Station. Wherever he was, John hoped he would never, ever have to go through what his brother went through…ever.

Chester…his boy Chester.

* * *

**If you found that an odd place to end the chapter, don't worry - it'll make sense soon. Oh, and the name, Chester is a tad important. Thanks for reading! Please let me know what you think!**


	11. Chapter 11

**XI.**

"What in blue hell…" Deputy Morris observed the empty train car, at a loss for words.

It was all tore up. Long, grizzly-looking claw marks ran along the iron walls, in every which direction. Both doors were dented up something awful. There were faint traces of what he recognized as dried blood spotted along the dirty floor.

He took off his hat and scratched his perspiring head. Roy the train foreman stood with him fuming.

"Now just what you and Sheriff gonna do about this mess, Deputy?" he barked, his arms folded over his burly chest. His boy Teddy stood by, peering into the car with something in his eyes akin to fearful reverence.

Blacks around these parts were a superstitious lot.

Deputy Morris sighed. If it wasn't _one_ damn thing, it was _another_. He had just come from the hospital, where thirty-some-odd people had been admitted overnight with all kinds of gashes and bites – ranging from severe and gushing to minor but peculiar. Mostly farmers, up early tending to their crops, or travelers up to make sure they caught the next train passing through. One of them was a mailman just hitching up his wagon to start delivering the day's letters and packages.

Doctors and nurses said they all had the same story: they were attacked by an enormous, ferocious, wolf-like animal.

Most of them didn't get a good look at it, and the ones that did were too frightened and shocked to tell him anything that made sense. Gleaming white eyes…huge claws…standing upright…and wearing _breeches_, some said. Well that was just plum foolishness. What was less peculiar and more alarming: from the times people were admitted, to where they'd been when it happened, it sounded an awful lot like there was more than one of these animals.

Deputy Morris was dog-tired.

He'd been up since seven o'clock the previous morning, only catching snatches of sleep here and there when he could retreat to the jailhouse. There was only one police force in the county, covering both White Station and West Point and a few small farming communities surrounding the area. It was hell on a _good_ day, traipsing back and forth across the Tibbee over the bridge, policing the Negroes and the Whites – trying his best to be a decent man of the law when most everybody else would rather he follow in the Sheriff's footsteps. Even the Blacks expected it from him, and sometimes, out of frustration, he forgot himself.

These last few days had been hell in a hand basket – first the Sheriff hangs himself in one of the jail cells, and Morris is forced to cover it up via a wire from the Mayor himself. He didn't know how long he could keep it up – the Mayor wanted it kept quiet until he could get to West Point to "deal with it". They went way back, Sheriff and the Mayor. Morris wasn't a stupid man…the Mayor's demands were mighty suspicious, to say the least. But, what could he do? His job…always his job.

Then that boy Percy Daniels was attacked. Morris ought to have realized when he was collecting Percy's body that Ole GYST House John would go off on a gun-swinging rampage in the woods. But, truth be told he was running on only a couple of hours sleep even then, and he just wanted to get the whole ugly business of taking Percy back to West Point over with.

John was a good man, but he was also dangerous if you messed with his mind enough. And no doubt seeing that boy Percy (a good kid, Morris thought, even if he never said it aloud) attacked so viciously would do the trick. After he was once again summoned to the GYST House, collected John's guns and met Martha Jones, Morris searched the woods. He never saw any beast, but he did see Walter Fletcher's body. Same thing as Percy.

He took it back to the ice box. He hardly got a seat at his desk before reports of these strange attacks started coming in. There were also reports of ear-splitting howling. And once or twice, Morris thought he heard it too.

Now he had to deal with this.

He turned to look at Roy the foreman. "You call your boys back? This wasn't done by no stow away…there's reports in town about a big wolf on the loose…looks like you had yourself one trapped in here." He squinted at Roy skeptically. "Looks an awful lot like it broke out. Stow away is a pretty convenient story…you sure you ain't got something to tell me, Roy?"

Roy gaped at him, his face going red with anger. He looked from Teddy to the deputy, sputtering furiously. "That's a damn lie, Deputy! Where you get off accusing me of hoarding dangerous animals? I'm tellin' you, there was dirty scalawags in that car!"

Deputy Morris considered him for a moment. He nodded gruffly before replacing his hat atop his head. It wasn't even eight in the morning, and already he could feel the sweltering heat building up.

"You just call those boys of yours back, you hear? Come down to the jailhouse, fill out a claim, I'll see what I can do about the damage."

"That's it?" Raged the foreman, throwing his hat to the ground in a huff. "Where's the Sheriff, this is outrageous!"

Deputy Morris fixed him with a steely gaze, silencing his ranting. "The Sheriff sent me to deal with this. And my official word on the matter is that you come down and fill out a claim – otherwise you best get moving before I report your ass for transportin' illegal goods across this county."

Roy's face drained of color. He didn't think Deputy Morris knew about his black market operation. He opened his mouth as if to argue, thought better of it, and stooped to pick up his hat.

"I got bigger fish to fry today. If there's a wild animal runnin' loose in my town, and I find out you're responsible, Roy Calhoun – your ass is grass."

He turned on his heel and stalked off back to his horse.

"And send somebody to turn those boys around," he called over his shoulder, adjusting his gun holster. "Or else I'll go in after 'em…and you don't want me to do that."

Roy watched the deputy walk away. He was nothing but a soft, weak, negro-loving church boy. He decided to contact the Sheriff as soon as they stopped at the next station. He needed to get his shipment across county lines in the meantime, though. And he would be damned if he was going to let this salamander-bellied deputy pin this animal attack bullshit on him.

He glanced angrily at his tore up train car. "To hell with it…" he grumbled. Then he glared at Teddy. "Get your ass in gear, boy! We got to keep time, or we'll be late for the next shipment. And SOMEBODY GIT AFTER THE REST O'MY CREW!"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Okay. Martha mustn't panic.

She had been in worse situations with The Doctor before.

They were just in 1939, that's all. In the deep American South. With a lynch mob probably on the way. Oh, and The Doctor was apparently a werewolf.

Piece of cake. No problem at all. _Allons-y_, as The Doctor would say.

Mister John ushered Martha up the steps of the GYST House porch and gritted his teeth as he heaved The Doctor along behind her. Sweet Mama was still up, amazingly, and she came shuffling towards the screen door with her kindly face screwed up with worry and alarm.

Martha swung open the screen door and motioned for Mister John to move in ahead of her.

"Oh my Lord…!" Sweet Mama gasped, clutching her heart, as she gazed wide-eyed at The Doctor's lifeless form slung over Mister John's shoulders. "John, who is _that?_"

"That's The Doctor," Martha answered automatically, slamming both the screen door and the heavy wooden front door shut. She locked it.

"Sweet Mama, we got a room upstairs?" Mister John panted, pausing at the foot of the wooden staircase.

Both he and Martha looked to the elderly caretaker, urgently awaiting her response. But she was still staring at The Doctor…her eyes deep pools of apprehension. Martha frowned at the woman's expression…she looked positively spooked. What on earth…?

"Woman, I'm talkin' to you. Room? Upstairs? We got it?"

Sweet Mama seemed to snap out of her fearful trance and nodded quickly, her eyes darting from The Doctor's body to Martha's face and then to John's. "Y-Yes, child. Attic room, on the top floor…"

"Percy's room…" Mister John muttered, his face wavering emotionally for a second.

Sweet Mama nodded gently.

Mister John leapt into action then, turning and taking the steps two at a time, careful not to catch The Doctor's back or head on the overhanging beams. Martha followed quickly. Honestly, she didn't know how Mister John did it – the house was three stories high and the stairs were steep and narrow. The air became warmer, thicker, and dustier the higher they climbed. By the time they reached the top, where there was only one room (Percy's attic room), she was breathing hard and she felt slightly lightheaded.

Mister John got the door open and ducked his body, carefully carrying The Doctor into the triangle-shaped room, towards the bed. It was a simple cot in the middle of the space, covered with a tattered brown quilt. The pillow and the mattress looked like a bunch of pieces of cloth sewn together and stuffed with feathers until they were thick enough for some semblance of support.

Of course, it was positively stifling inside. The morning was still new, but being at the top of the house made the room a bit of a magnet for rising heat rays. Mister John flung open the lone window, allowing a weak breeze to bless them with a modicum of relief.

Martha dumped her bag on the floor by the bed and knelt beside The Doctor's unconscious form. She felt his forehead, her training kicking in at full tilt. He was burning up. A light sheen of sweat coated his pale skin. His closed eyelids were alive with activity as his eyes darted around beneath them. His chest rose and fell almost too rapidly, like he was feasting on the air as it passed through his lungs.

"Okay. Okay…." Martha swallowed and stared at him, thinking.

Could he possibly be in some kind of coma? Her mind ran through the symptoms of various states of coma. Irregular breathing. Fever. His hand twitched slightly, but he didn't stir otherwise. Spontaneous body movements. He was dreaming…she could tell by the way his eyes were jumping around. Martha lifted them, and yes, his brown eyes were moving back and forth like a pendulum.

She wished she had a pin light. An idea occurred to her, and she retrieved the sonic from her back pocket. She randomly pressed a button, and luck smiled on her. A thin blue ray of light shone from the ring around the head of the device. Martha lifted his right eyelid again and shone the light into his eye.

It was dilated. Same with the left one. When she removed the light, the pupil remained dilated. Shit.

She reached out and began to test his reflexes. Tapping hard against her fist as she rested it on different pressure points. She moved down his body, repeating the process until she reached his ankles. No response to physical stimulation.

Mister John stood in the corner of the room, breathing hard and sweating, his hands on his hips.

"What you reckon, Miss Martha?" he breathed.

She turned to look up at him. She didn't know how much he had guessed about the fact that she was medically trained, but he was a clever man. She could tell that from spending time with him; he possessed a keen observance of things. He looked at her now expectantly, and she just gave it to him straight.

"I'm not sure. The Doctor said they were 'hosts'. Human hosts. And…well, that word usually means there's some kind of virus or infection." She placed her hand under The Doctor's jaw, checking his pulse. It was very fast – again, she wasn't sure if that was normal for him or not, having a more complicated vascular system than humans.

She frowned and shook her head quickly.

"It's neurological, it has to be…it's affecting his whole body, but the source is in his mind…remember? He was trying to, em…" she paused. Mister John waited. She figured, what the hell, he had taken everything else in stride so far, why not this? "Last night, he was speaking telepathically with the werewolf. That's why it didn't attack."

Mister John blinked at her, still catching his breath. Okay. She hurried on through her explanation.

"We know he was attacked…he must be infected with whatever it is that turned that thing into a werewolf."

"Will he…turn? Like you said? Will he turn into one of them?'

Martha looked down at The Doctor again. She watched him for a long pause, then shook her head. "I dunno…I don't _think_ so. The sun is up. Werewolves only come out at night, don't they?"

Mister John nodded slightly. "That's what all the stories say."

"What's today's date?" Martha asked suddenly, an idea forming in her head.

"The twenty-eighth. Why?"

"How long do full moons last…?" The last question was more to herself, than to John. He merely watched her kneeling beside The Doctor. "Maybe…maybe it'll be alright. Maybe he's fighting it off. Maybe that's why he's in such a state…he's fighting for control of his own mind."

She wasn't very sure of herself, and if she couldn't convince _herself_ she knew she probably wasn't going to convince Mister John. He didn't say anything at first. Then: "I gotta get downstairs. Make sure they didn't follow us."

Martha remembered suddenly, her concern for The Doctor rudely interrupted. The mob. They were still in danger.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The deputy had half a mind to bring Roy Calhoun in, search his cargo, and book him.

But he knew it would do him little good. In fact, it might have him in big trouble with the higher-ups. No doubt they were in on his little black market operation, which was one of the reasons he was able to carry on as he did.

Morris was probably facing some grief as it was, for dismissing Roy the way he did and not letting him send his gang of ruffians to grab some innocent Negro and string him up for no reason.

And the deputy was certain, anyhow – it wasn't no stow away that did the damage he saw to that car.

He made his way back into town, deep in thought, and utterly exhausted. If he didn't get some shuteye soon, he'd drop dead on his feet. He knew Ed or Homer would cover for him if he needed it, but they were just as bad as the Sheriff. Besides which, they were plum stupid, the both of them.

It was a good thing his wife Laurel was away visiting her sister in Texas. She'd be mighty cross with him for pulling all nighters like this. He was passing the small hospital, on his way back to the jailhouse, when one of the doctors he'd spoken to earlier ran right up to his horse.

There were automobiles starting to creep into town, more and more these days, seemed like. But Deputy Morris still preferred his old girl to those noisy contraptions any day. He clicked his tongue and slowed her to a halt as the distressed looking doctor stopped in front of him, breathing a sigh of relief.

"Deputy, I'm glad I spotted ya. Listen – you just gotta come in and see this!"

"What's the trouble, there, Doc?"

"It's…" he struggled for words, adjusting his spectacles atop the bridge of his nose. He shook his bald head. "It's just…well…_impossible!_ In all my years of praticin' medicine, I never seen such a phenomenon! Come quick!"

_Sweet Jesus, what __**now**__? _He thought as he dismounted his carriage and tethered his horse.

He followed the doctor into the hospice, all the while trying to make sense of his rapid, rushed words. He was garbling something about the patients who'd been attacked. How they were all in some kind of comatose state. How none of his staff could figure out the source of their symptoms.

He led Deputy Morris into the main room, where they had some seventy beds, half of which was taken up by victims of the animal attacks.

As they walked, Deputy Morris observed the nurses and other doctors whispering among themselves urgently and with a note of puzzlement. "Hurry! This one, it's starting again with this one!"

Deputy Morris observed that all of the attack victims were indeed laying with their eyes closed, their eyelids twitching with frenzied movement, their chests rising and falling fitfully as they breathed.

The doctor led him to a bed, and on it lay one of the town's only two mailmen, Richard Loomis. Richard had a wife and daughter, both of which were standing nearby holding each other with worried looks on their fair faces. "What's happening to him, doctor?" His wife, Sandra, pleaded.

"Deputy, look at this…" He turned his attention from the frightened and worried Loomis women, looking down at Richard. The doctor had unraveled the bandages that had been wrapped around Richard's torso, where he'd been injured.

He lifted them, revealing what was underneath. Deputy Morris stared, unsure what he was looking at.

Where there should have been a series of deep, nasty gashes across Richard's lower chest, there was…nothing. Smooth, pale skin. Healed. Completely healed.

Morris' eyes darted to the doctor's. "What the hell is that supposed to be, doc? You telling me them wounds is healed already? Hell, it's only been-!"

"Not even two hours, Deputy." The doctor finished for him, looking grave. "This man was injured pretty badly – worse than most of the others. Now look at him!"

Deputy Morris looked. Richard Loomis was laying in bed, eyes closed as though fast asleep, breathing heavily. Not a scratch on him, though.

"What's wrong with him, doc?"

The doctor ran a hand over his bald head. "I-I honestly don't know. All his symptoms are inconclusive…he's got a fever, he _appears_ to be in a deep state of R.E.M. sleep – but there's no waking him."

"Please!" Sandra Loomis spoke up from the corner. "Doctor, you must do something for him!"

Deputy Morris looked around. "And you say they're _all_ like this? All healed and everythin', like Richard?"

The doctor came to stand next to him as a nurse swept in to comfort the mailman's wife and daughter.

"Every single one. It started happening about a half hour ago – they all just started drifting off. We checked them over, tried to revive them, but…nothing. Then one of my nurses noticed what you saw on Richard. Same thing, on every one. No evidence of injury, minor or otherwise."

Deputy Morris stood silently, racking his brain to make sense of all this. "Just what the hell kind of animal injury could do such a thing, Doc?"

The doctor turned to stare at him. "I don't know, Deputy. But if I was you, I'd best catch it before it attacks anyone else. Otherwise we'll have a town full of sleeping beauties on our hands."

He shook his head in wonder.

"Fascinating! Just…oh, if only those idiots at the university could see what I've stumbled upon here!"

"Let's not get hasty, doctor. We don't want no wires to the university about this just yet, got that?"

The doctor looked disappointed, but he nodded briskly. "Of course, of course."

"Just…let me know if anything changes. I'm gonna get to the bottom of this…"

He turned and walked out of the room, his mind reeling.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha's pulse was racing, but she tried to keep her hands steady.

She stripped The Doctor of his destroyed suit. Her cheeks took it upon themselves to burn with a furious blush when she saw that his underwear was nearly destroyed, too. She tried not to look.

Martha forced herself in doctor-in-training mode, dutifully ignoring his exposed sex as she fished through Percy's drawers and found suitable sleeping things. A pair of striped pajama pants. She dressed The Doctor with difficulty, having to maneuver his dead weight to get them on him, all the while turning her face up to the rafters to avoid looking at his nakedness.

The pants were too short for him, of course, stopping at a couple of inches above his ankles. They would have to do, for the time being. He had a fever; she needed to keep his body as cool as possible. She had to hurry, thinking of soaking some cloth in ice water for his forehead and chest.

She gave his unconscious form a lingering look before hurrying out of the room.

When she emerged, she noticed that some of the boarders were rousing from their rooms, muttering to each other and slipping on shirts and shoes as they went.

"What's going on?" She asked Louis, who was hitching up his pants as they walked down the second flight of stairs together.

"John say there's a lynch mob comin', that's what." It was Charles who answered, and he didn't sound happy. He was behind them. "They comin' after you and ya stow away, missy!"

"What the hell ya'll get yaselves into out in them woods?" Louis inquired fretfully.

Martha didn't answer. She hurried along with the rest of the men, trying to push through to the front.

"Arm yaselves…!" someone was shouting.

"No!" Martha protested, forcing her way through the foyer, where about six or seven of the male boarders were mingling about. "No, you don't have to do this!"

Some had two by fours, some had pistols, some had their bare fists but they looked as ready to fight as the others. Sweet Mama was hovering at the front door, attempting to block it from them.

"Ya'll gon' get yaselves killed!" She pleaded, looking distraught. "Just leave it!"

Martha rushed up to her. "Sweet Mama, where is Mister John?"

She grabbed Martha's hands. "He's on the front porch, waiting for 'em! Talk to him, child, he won't listen to me." Martha almost couldn't believe that, but she peered around Sweet Mama's shoulder, where she could see through the screen door that Mister John was standing on the porch. He held a rifle in one hand.

"He's gon' get himself killed!"

"Sweet Mama, get on back in the house and stay there, now I mean it." John said calmly over his shoulder.

Martha squeezed Sweet Mama's hand reassuringly and nodded that she would go out. She slipped through the screen door, allowing the elderly woman to continue trying to talk sense into the men who were taking up arms. She approached Mister John carefully.

He was just standing there, his eyes searching the trees across the road. Waiting.

Martha stood next to him, her gaze slipping down to the rifle in his hand before returning to his eye level.

"Please, you don't have to do this. The Doctor and I will leave here."

"Too late." He grunted, still watching the trees. "If they comin, they comin for us all. That's just how they are. They'll burn this house down if it means getting' who they come for." He hocked and spit off the porch. "'Sides…" he turned to look down at her. "Ain't no way in hell I'm lettin' 'em get they hands on you."

Martha's heart reached out to him. "I won't let you do this. Not for me!"

"Miss Martha…" John's lips turned up into a soft, weary smile. "You hafta be one of the most beautiful and fascinatin' women I ever met. You said your doctor friend will help us. I figure 'fore he can do that, you gotta help _him_."

Martha shook her head, feeling tears slip from her eyes and run down her cheeks. She just couldn't let him sacrifice himself for her.

"So…me and the boys gon' fight. Can't be more than a few of 'em. If the Sheriff wanna hang me for defending my own land, so be it."

She grit her teeth, glaring at him. "I'll turn myself in before I let that happen."

He considered her, then nodded to himself, seeming to decide that she meant what she said. "That's one of the reasons why I think you somethin' special, Miss Martha…"

She sniffed and he reached up to wipe away a tear. His hand was rough, but he was gentle.

"But you gotta understand somethin'. I seen, more times than I care to remember, what they do to us when they take us. It ain't pretty. You ain't been through it – I can see it in your eyes. And, if I got anything to say about it, you never will."

She heard the screen door creak open, and now the other men were emerging onto the shade of the porch. It seemed like the sun was burning twice as much as usual, it was already so hot. Martha kept her eyes on Mister John.

"Get on back inside, Miss Martha," he ordered her quietly. "We got it from here."

Martha looked around her. The men were all staring at her, some with hostility, others – like Louis and Buster, and Earl, who had gone through that horrible night with her – with stoic acceptance.

Even the ones that didn't like the situation one bit, were willing to fight for her and The Doctor. She looked back at Mister John, and knew it was because he asked them to. Like she had seen in the clearing. They would do it for him.

So would she.

She stepped around to the other side of him, taking his rough, famer's hand in hers. "If you do this, I'm doing it with you."

He started to protest, but just then Buster spoke up urgently. "Someone's comin' down the road!"

Martha's heart seized, and she swallowed, readying herself. She had to try something – anything – to get them out of this. She kept repeating to herself over and over again…_what would The Doctor do? What would The Doctor do…?_

She could hear Sweet Mama standing at the screen door, weeping now.

The sun beat down on the yard. Martha turned to look with the other men. There was a figure approaching the house, way down the road. But he was alone.

Martha squinted, frowning. There was silence on the porch as they all watched the man approaching, aside from the faint sounds of the chickens clucking away in the coop. Martha could tell after a moment that he was black, not white. He was alone, and he was carrying something. It was oddly shaped. Large, and black. What on earth…?

"Don't look like he from here…" Someone muttered.

The man neared the front gate. He disappeared behind the rickety sign for a second before emerging again and halting at the threshold to the yard. He was very tall. Taller, even, than Mister John. His skin was so deep and rich a shade of brown that it looked almost ebony under the glaring sun. Also, he was barefoot.

The men all lowered their weapons as the stranger moved forward. Martha could see clearly now that the object he was carrying was a guitar case.

His face was set with unabashed determination. His walk, though upright and unafraid, was slightly weary. As he got closer, Martha noticed with alarm that his lips were white and cracked at the edges and he was wheezing slightly. He winced a little with every step. Like he'd been walking this way for miles, with no food or drink. Like he would collapse at any minute. But he held himself upright, and kept coming, that determined gleam very visible in his deep, intense brown eyes.

Mister John gripped his rifle, watching the man approach. He reached the steps of the porch and halted, his eyes roaming over all of them slowly before stopping on Mister John.

"I's lookin' for Mister John Grey," he said. His voice was deep and rough, and a tad intimidating.

There was silence. Then John spoke. "I'm him. Who're you?"

The man, who looked like he was somewhere in his twenties, stepped up onto the porch. He was huge. He towered over Martha and even though Mister John was no dainty flower, he himself looked somewhat diminished in this young man's presence.

The man looked into his eyes. Martha saw that he had the same kind of intensity – the same shrewd observance – as Mister John. Everyone waited.

"My name is Chester Burnett, sir." Said the young man confidently, despite the fact that Martha could plainly see he was about to drop from exhaustion. "I believes you is my daddy."


	12. Chapter 12

Just a note: Chester Burnett, otherwise known as - well, you'll see - _was a real man_. **However**, his presence in this story is only _based_ on Chester's real life. He's a character that I'm taking liberties with, from his career to his family background, to certain points in his life. I researched him, took things that worked for my story, and recreated him as a _version of himself_. **My** version. That's just a little disclaimer for any historians out there who are tempted to get anal about his presence in this fic. Thanks for reading, guys. Enjoy.

* * *

**XII.**

The entire atmosphere seemed to shift.

Where before, there was so much tension that it felt like a rubber band being stretched near snapping point – now there was a rather poignant reunion taking place.

Mister John's eyes studied Chester's face. He breathed in once, and opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out for a while. Chester stood waiting, and Martha was concerned that he would faint any moment. She let go of Mister John's hand, warily watching the pair – her medical training kicking in.

"Chester…?" John nearly whispered. Chester nodded once – just like his father.

Mister John reached up with his now free hand and grasped the younger man by the shoulder, and he looked like he wanted to cry. He didn't. Instead he shook his head slowly and smiled.

"My boy?"

"Yes, sir." Chester's voice was deep and gravelly. He smiled a little, too, his dark eyes watering.

Martha was truly touched by the scene.

"My boy came home! Sweet Mama, get out here! It's my boy, Chester!"

After that, there was some commotion. The men of the house all greeted Chester welcomingly. Firmly clapping him on the back or shaking his hand. Martha stepped aside and stood by watching silently, not wishing to disturb them. Sweet Mama embraced Chester and held his face between her hands. He was so tall that she had to crane her neck all the way up to get a good look at him, but Martha could see she didn't mind a bit.

Everyone moved inside, the lynch mob forgotten. Martha lingered on the porch, her eyes raking over the trees. A welcome breeze wafted across the land, making them sway. It was quiet. No gang of angry men with dogs emerged. There was no disturbance. At least, not yet.

Inside, Martha was relieved to see that they had ushered Chester into the living room and he was now sitting down in a chair. His sizable frame seemed to dwarf the chair, but he looked relieved to be sitting in it. Sweet Mama had fetched him some lemonade, which he was drinking down. He finished it in one go, and she happily poured him another glass.

"Oh, I bettr get somethin' cookin' for you, boy!" She beamed, patting him on the cheek. "You must be starved. How's some biscuits and gravy sound?"

"Thank you, ma'am," he replied politely, his voice rumbling deep in is throat. Mister John was kneeling on one knee next to where Chester sat, shaking his head in wonder.

Several men crowded around them.

"Where's Miss Martha?" John spoke up suddenly, turning from Chester to seek her out in the crowded room.

"Here…" she stepped between two men and smiled faintly, honestly feeling a little nervy.

"Come meet my boy, Chester." Mister John's entire demeanor had changed. He was positively chuffed, smiling from ear to ear – an expression Martha was seeing for the first time. He was usually so serious and stoic. She preferred this side of him. "Chester, this here is Miss Martha Jones. She come from London, over in England."

Martha moved closer, smiling first at Mister John and then offering a hand to Chester.

The young man put his glass of lemonade down and stood. He towered over her, but she could tell this was a respectful, honorable gesture as he ducked his head and took her hand.

"Pleasure to meet you, ma'am," he said. He had a firm grip. She suspected he was holding back, so as not to hurt her small hand in his. Also, his fingertips were rough – a product of playing the instrument he carried with him, no doubt. It was the only thing he had on his person, it seemed.

"Likewise…" Martha looked him the eyes. Something about his eyes was mesmerizing. "I'm Martha Jones. I'm just…passing through, I guess."

"She and a friend of hers needed help out there in them woods," Mister John supplied, standing again. "We had us a _morning_, isn't that right Miss Martha?"

"It's been pretty eventful, yeah." Someone clucked his tongue. Martha took a deep breath and let go of Chester's hand. "Anyway – I'd better go check on The Doctor. It's really lovely to meet you, Chester."

Chester nodded, and Martha turned to maneuver her way through the crowd of men, not looking any one of them in eye. When she made it to the kitchen, she heard voices begin to hum with conversation. She tuned them out. They were no doubt beginning a discussion about her, and The Doctor, and the danger, and now Chester arriving right in the middle of it all.

She would let them talk for a bit. She had to get to The Doctor.

Sweet Mama was busying herself making breakfast. She had a big tray full of bacon, a rack with several dozen eggs stacked inside, and was using a pin roller to flatten some floury dough for what Americans called biscuits. Her apron was spattered with flower. For an elderly woman, she worked fast.

Martha frowned. "Sweet Mama, would you like some help?"

Sweet Mama laughed. She turned to look over at Martha. Martha could see that she had been crying. "Child, I could cook everything in that cupboard, serve it, and clean up after without breakin' a sweat – I'm so glad that boy is home!"

Martha beamed at her.

"Mister John was just talking about him. It's so weird he showed up today. He's been gone for a long time, yeah?"

"Since he was just a little ole thing, still suckin' his thumb. His mama took him – stole away with him in the middle of the night. John was so heartbroken." Sweet Mama shook her head sadly and wiped her hands on her apron, shuffling over to the sink. She took a bowl of ice and water out of the basin and held it out to Martha. There were two rolled up towels inside. "Here you are. For your friend. Look like he was burning up with fever."

"Oh, thank you! You read my mind!" Martha took the bowl.

Sweet Mama held on to it, not letting Martha take it away just yet. Their eyes met.

"You be careful, you hear?"

Martha's smile faded. Sweet Mama's expression was reminiscent of the one she'd worn when Martha and Mister John first arrived that morning with an unconscious Doctor in tow. "What do you mean?"

There was a lengthy pause. The fire crackling in the pit of the iron stove reached Martha's ears, along with the hum of male voices drifting in from the living room. Sweet Mama sighed, her eyes grave.

"That man…your friend? He got the mark o'the devil on him."

Martha started to protest, the corner's of her mouth actually turning up into a disbelieving smile, but Sweet Mama's expression halted her smirk in its tracks.

"Don't matter what you believe in, baby. I'm old, but I ain't feeble. I was raised in the church; knowin' that there is things in this world that we don't understand…dangerous things…dark things…and that man's soul is…"

The elderly woman shook her head, lowering her gaze and seeming to think about this. She struggled for words for a second. Martha stood riveted as she continued.

"Well, it's like his soul is lost. Like it's everywhere at once. I ain't never had a feelin' like it before. When I met you, I knew you were good and sweet and brave. Same with all these fool menfolk in this house. They all talk a blue streak around ya if you let 'em. But they all got good souls.

"That's how I know Deputy Morris is good…it's just somethin' I been able to do since I was a little girl. My mama calls it a gift. A blessed touch from God. Call it whatever you like – but it ain't ever steered me wrong."

"You…see something dark about The Doctor's…_soul_?"

"Oh baby, it ain't as cut an dry as you think. Any man got you for a friend ain't all bad. But…just the same…something unseemly has a hold on him. It's dangerous…but I ain't worried about him."

Martha shook her head, confused. "Then…what are you saying?"

Sweet Mama leaned forward and whispered: "Your friend, the doctor, has terrifyin' anger and spite all wrapped up inside him. I felt it, soon as ya'll brought him in the house. Hit me like a train. Still can't shake it off."

Martha had been holding her breath, and she inhaled now.

"All I'm saying' child, is _be careful_. He needs you. And you gotta be strong for him…cause I fear…if he can't count on you, there'll be no stoppin' him. And he won't stop at whatever it is that took Percy and Walter, either, or whatever it is that has its claws in him…he won't stop."

She pressed the ice cold bowl into Martha's hands and gave her a maternal pat before turning back to her cooking. She resumed rolling the floury biscuit dough flat. Martha stood, unsure of what to say – how to respond. A part of her wanted to dismiss what the woman had said. She didn't know anything about The Doctor – she hadn't really even met him properly! But another part of her – the part that had seen so much traveling with him, the part that had seen what he was capable of, the part that heard what Tim had uttered in that dark cabin in 1913 – was shaken.

She backed out of the kitchen, turned, and climbed the stairs to the attic.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Mister John studied his son…his boy Chester…a soft, proud smile on his lips.

"Goddamn, boy…" He sighed. "I never thought I'd see you again, you know that?"

Chester nodded. "Mama…she told me as much."

John tried not to let that affect him. "How is your mama?"

Chester scoffed – the first lighthearted gesture he'd made since his arrival. "She's in the church. So much in the church that she turned me out of the house and told me never to show my face again."

John shook his head. "I'm sorry, son."

"It was years ago." Chester shrugged and rubbed his hands together slowly. "I respect her wishes."

"What ya mama go and do that 'fore?" Earl asked from his leaning position against one of the walls.

Chester regarded him, then nodded at his guitar case. Everyone in the room turned to stare at it. Chester reached for it, running his rough hands over it reverently. He lay it flat on the carpet, still running his hands along it like he was caressing his woman. There was silence in the room as he finally unfastened the clasps at either end of the case and opened the lid.

Everyone practically stood on their tiptoes to get a good look at the instrument inside. He picked it up. A collective blanket of awed silence fell over the room. It wasn't as though none of them had ever seen a guitar before. It wasn't as though this particular guitar was that special looking, either.

Sure, it was well cared for. It was in better shape than Chester was, himself. Its shine was so sharp, the sun cut across the surface and nearly blinded the lot of them for a split second.

No it wasn't just the guitar.

It was the man and the instrument, together, and some special _something_ that happened once they joined. Chester propped the guitar up on his knee, cleared his throat, and began to strum a tune.

"There was a man, where I was workin' on ole Mister Young's Plantation…" he spoke. His voice was like smoldering embers in a fire…steady…rough…get too close and get burned. "He played a guitar just like this here."

Chester strummed a harsh, elongated note and a ripple of kinetic energy moved through the room. The man gave him their undivided attention.

"His name was Charley. And he was a big, bad _ass_ Negro…" his fingers were dancing with the strings, now. The music was somber but energetic, quick then slow. "Taught me a thang or two…then taught me some more…"

He kept playing, all eyes on him.

"'Fore I know it, I'm in the juke joints, howlin' for duckets. Ole Charley says I howl so good…gon' call me Howlin' Wolf from now on…" and he half-howled, half-sang to demonstrate. Mister John felt a shiver go through him, but he remained silent as his son played.

"I been to Memphis, I been to Georgia, I been to Arkansas and all over…" He howled again, strumming faster now. Then he looked up and around and he smiled – a dark, devilish smile. "When I come back to take care of my mama with all that money I made, you know what she say?"

Sweet Mama had emerged from the kitchen, holding a dishtowel tightly in her hands. She heard her grandson howl, saw his lips curl up into an 'oh'. He sang it at them, that howl, and it sent chills down her spine.

"She say Chester! Chester, you got the devil in you, boy! Git on outta my house…and don't come back. Take ya devil money with ya! And don't come back. Take that devil guitar, too. Oooh, and don't come back!"

He laughed. The men all laughed with him. All except Sweet Mama and Mister John. He tapped his foot, strummed his guitar. His energy level was rising. He kept singing.

"So I got on up! I took her hand! I kissed her gently, say mama I understand!"

He strummed. The other men clapped for him. Stamped their feet. The energy in the room rose. It grew hot. It grew restless. His guitar sent kinetic vibrations through the small space, and he sang, his voice booming and heavy and hypnotic.

"I got on outta that house! I walked away! No shoes, no food! For forty days! I took my guitar! I played to stay! I howled in the dark! To make my way! Oooohhh!"

Then his voice grew quiet, and his strumming slowed down. He lowered his head to concentrate on the chords, and he closed his eyes. He brought the song to a haunting close.

"Now here I am…with my daddy again. I hope I can stay…and get to know him. Then move on up…God only knows where…but I hope he's proud o'me…when I finally get there."

He stopped.

Once again the room was silent.

There was a pause, and then the men all erupted into raucous applause. "Goddamn boy, you sho can pick that guitar!" Charles exclaimed, clasping hands with Chester. "Mister John, we gotta get him in the juke joint!"

Mister John eyed Charles until the other man's smile faded. He stepped back from Chester. Everyone else quieted down a bit. Mister John looked down at his son. "Howlin' Wolf, huh?"

Chester nodded.

"That's a hell of a name…a name kinda gimme the shivers, with what we all been dealin' with this mornin'." He looked at Earl and Buster and Louis, Sweet Mama – then finally, with cold authority, at Charles.

Charles cleared his throat and lowered his head in shame.

"I didn't mean no disrespect," Chester's fiery manner from when he was playing had diminished again. He was once again stoic and respectful. "I'll leave if you-?"

"Naw, boy, you ain't goin' nowhere." Mister John told him, offering a tender smile. "I just got ya back."

Chester seemed at ease. Then he spoke. "If there's train men comin' after ya, I'll stand with ya."

Mister John nodded his appreciation and sighed. "Well, that's another thing." He walked towards the window and peered out. "If they ain't showed up by now…chances is they ain't comin'."

He turned back to face the room, and Chester.

"I believes that's cause of you. You brought that blessin' on your back. And I'm sho glad to have you here, son."

Someone's stomach growled. "Sweet Mama, ain't them biscuits done cookin' yet?" Buster complained.

The tension in the room broke instantly, and laughter and chatter took its place.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Deputy Morris had his men post up signs all over town. He sent one of the little runner boys over to White Station to do the same.

BEWARE. LARGE, WOLF-LIKE ANIMAL ON THE PROWL. DO NOT GO OUT ALONE. IF YOU'RE PERMITTED – ARM YOURSELF. DO NOT GO INTO THE WOODS AT NIGHT, UNDER ANY CIRCUMSTANCES. HUNTING PARTIES ARE HEREBY SUSPENDED UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE. DO NOT APPROACH THE ANIMAL. GET TO SAFETY AND CALL FOR THE PROPER AUTHORITIES.

-DEPUTY HUGH MORRIS

Once he saw to that, he set about arranging a search party. He got a few men who worked the tracks, a few able-bodied farmers, and his own men from the jailhouse. They planned to go out in the early evening, a few hours before the sun would set. That way they could avoid the harsh heat, but still have enough light to get a good head start before they had to rely on flashlights and keen eyesight.

He found himself nervous. He knew he shouldn't be, it was just a wild animal, or two. But what he saw at the hospital, coupled with the state of the dead bodies he already had, made him think twice about underestimating the situation.

His mind went back to that Martha Jones girl.

He could not forget her name, even if he tried. Her words to him didn't make a lick of sense at the time, but he wondered about them now. _Stay in the moonlight_, she'd said, as if his life depended on it. Her face was so genuine with concern, and intelligence, and…something else he couldn't put his finger on. Like she'd seen things…things he couldn't begin to imagine.

It might just be foolishness on his part. But still…he wondered.

He also wondered about this doctor fellow she mentioned that she was looking for. The man she traveled with. She wasn't from here – she was from half a world away, as far as he was concerned. London. He'd met people from London; educators and diplomats and rich bankers and the like. If this man was a doctor, and he was from London, too, maybe he could tell them something about what happened to those patients that the good doctor at the hospital couldn't.

He hadn't found a trace of that doctor, yet, though. No one in town knew anything about such an arrival. He had a mind to call around to the GYST House again, see if they'd found him. But right now he was still dog-tired. So he let his men ready themselves for the search later that night. And he sat in his chair, and he thought about Martha Jones and the strange symptoms of the patients – he thought about the Mayor's impending arrival, and the Sheriff's odd suicide.

He drifted off to sleep, thinking he heard something howling away somewhere far, far off…

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha thought she heard music; singing.

Some sound echoed up to her from downstairs, some voice. She thought she heard…howling. But not from the beast – that was impossible. The sun was up, the day just beginning. She felt comforted by that. The howling sound she heard sounded so familiar though.

Part of her wanted to go and investigate.

But another part was completely devoted to the task at hand.

Martha gently laid the cold washcloth across The Doctor's bare chest. She then took the other, wrung it out, folded it, and pressed it to his forehead. He was still burning up. She hoped this would help. Her last resort would be to toss him in a tub of ice water.

His breathing had slowed, finally, but his eyes remained locked in some kind of frenzied battle under his tightly shut eyelids.

Martha sat on a small, tattered footstool next to the little cot, ignoring the heat. She watched The Doctor for a long while. He lay there, vulnerable-looking, more so than she'd ever seen him. He sort of looked more human now than he did in 1913. In Percy's too-short pajama trousers, with cold towels on his chest and forehead.

She took an ice chip and rubbed it along his hairline and temples. She pressed her cold, wet fingers to his dry lips. She held his hand.

"Please, Doctor…" she murmured. "Wake up. I have no idea what to do, next. Those things are still out there, daylight or not."

He didn't respond.

She sighed, fighting back tears. A powerful yawn escaped her. She realized that she was utterly knackered, not having slept since a couple of hours before they landed the TARDIS here. She longed to be back in the TARDIS, with The Doctor jumping around the console like a rabbit, grinning at her and ignoring her attempts to flirt with him.

It all seemed so silly now, her resentment of his obliviousness to her feelings.

She would take that obliviousness any day over this.

She held his hand, leaned over, and lay her head in her arms next to his torso. She closed her weary eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

She had strange, fitful dreams. Dreams of the wolf, and those terrifying, silvery white eyes. She was being chased in one of the dreams, and at first she thought she was being hunted by the wolf. Then she realized that it wasn't the wolf at all – it was The Doctor. Those terrible eyes were his, silver and gleaming with hunger. His long coat fluttered behind him as he ran after her, and Martha was torn between changing course and going to him and fleeing for her life.

And Mister John and Chester were there. Beckoning her to them, away from The Doctor. Urgently, they pleaded for her to keep running, to stay away from the man she loved. And he was gaining on her. She wanted so badly to go to him, but his eyes were so terrifying. At the last moment, she decided to risk it – to risk it all; her life, her heart, everything. If he was going to rip her to shreds, then so be it. She had to try. She had to.

Chester and John took aim with their guns and Martha launched herself towards The Doctor.

He opened his arms, his gleaming eyes boring into her. She ran towards him now, calling, pleading for him to get out of the way or they would kill him. He ignored them. When she reached them, she tried to push him out of the way, but he held her fast. His eyes made her heart seize – she was so afraid of him but she was so in love with him. He moved as if to kiss her, but then his mouth opened to reveal snapping, snarling jaws full of razor sharp fangs. He threw his head back and howled, and Martha could not escape – he was holding her so tightly she felt he might crush her at any moment.

So she was going to die, then. The Doctor was going to feed on her.

She let go and accepted it. A shot rang out.

Martha jerked awake.

Sweet Mama was standing over her, looking worried.

"I'm sorry to wake you, child. But you slept the day away…" She gestured to the sky outside the lone attic window. Martha saw with alarm that it was dusk.

She jumped up. "Blimey, it's almost _nightfall?_" The dregs of sleep and that horrible nightmare drained from her slowly, she stumbled, still a bit groggy.

Sweet Mama hushed her, reaching out to take her firmly by the shoulders and usher to sit on the edge of the cot at The Doctor's feet. "No need to be upset. John and some of the boys are standin' guard. Chester even went out with 'em. They keepin' watch; keepin' us safe in this house."

Martha licked her dry lips, trying to calm down. Trying to hear what Sweet Mama was saying. She nodded faintly. "What does the moon look like?" She turned to see.

Clouds passed over it steadily, but she could tell that it was not a full moon. She didn't know if she should be relieved or not. Traveling with The Doctor taught her not to take anything for granted.

"I've got to warn the Sheriff…" Martha muttered, realizing that if The Doctor was still laying on this cot, unconscious – and he was – then it meant she needed to carry on in his stead.

Sweet Mama smiled. "Deputy sent boys out to post signs up, all over the place. Earl brought one back from the general store earlier today."

"He did?"

"Yes ma'am, Sheriff knows all about it. They say folks can't go out at night; and nobody's allowed in them woods, either."

"A curfew, that's good." Martha nodded, frowning. "For now, at least. Still…I think I should talk to him."

She turned and looked at The Doctor. Someone – probably Sweet Mama – had removed the cold compress from his head and the towel from his chest.

"Did his fever break?" She walked around to kneel beside the cot. She felt his forehead. He wasn't burning up anymore. His temperature felt normal, or at least, for a Time Lord. Martha always noticed that he ran slightly warmer than humans.

"He'll be alright." Sweet Mama said. "It's you I'm worried about. Skinny little thing, you are! I brought you up some supper."

Martha tore her eyes away from The Doctor and her nose smelled the food before she saw it. Sweet Mama handed her a covered plate. It was warm and smelled delicious. She hadn't eaten all day. She removed the towel from the top and salivated over the meal of corn bread, fried chicken, green beans, and mashed potatoes.

"Oh my god, thank you!" She exclaimed gratefully, tucking in. She rolled her eyes back at the sheer heavenly taste of the crispy, yet juicy chicken. It was seasoned to perfection. The wasn't the only time Martha had eaten Southern home cooking, but then again she hadn't actually been in the American South at the time. This was much, much better.

She ate everything full stop, perched on the edge of the cot, the plate held up to her neck. Sweet Mama tidied up as she ate, and even tended to The Doctor a little.

Martha wondered about something. She wiped her mouth with the towel that had been covering the plate and sat everything carefully down on the dresser by the window.

"Sweet Mama?"

"Hmm?"

"About what you said earlier…about The Doctor's soul?"

Sweet Mama chuckled. "Did I scare you? I'm sorry, child. John always says I get carried away. Can't help myself, I s'pose."

Martha shook her head. "Did John tell you what happened to The Doctor? Why he's like this?"

Sweet Mama looked up at her, finally. "I heard them talkin'." She didn't seem surprised or frightened.

"So you know that these animals that killed Percy. The ones that attacked The Doctor…they aren't…_just_ animals."

"I know that. And I know that God sent you and this man to protect us."

Martha was confused. "But you said The Doctor had the devil's curse."

Sweet Mama laughed. "Not a curse, child. Just a mark. From the beast." She reached out with her hand and traced her fingers along The Doctor's torso, where the gashes in his discarded shirt would line up. "Here."

"Yes…how did you…?"

"I just know things. That's all. Like I said, it's a gift." She paused and stared at Martha for a long while. So long that Martha began to grow uncomfortable under the gaze. Then she came around the cot and approached her. She touched Martha's cheek, and her eyes were tender. "I can see _you_, child."

"What do you mean?" Martha breathed.

"I can see…your heart aches for this man. I don't need no gift for that, truth be told." Martha felt her cheeks burning under Sweet Mama's touch. She felt very exposed. "It's alright! Nothin' to be ashamed of! Love is a beautiful blessin' – we all lucky if when come across it just once in this world."

"He doesn't…" she couldn't finish the sentence. She swallowed hard, fighting back emotion.

Sweet Mama embraced her, squeezing her tight, then stood back and smiled kindly up at her. "Sometimes men don't know what they got, even when it's starin' them right in the face."

It was Martha's turn to laugh. She felt a tear fall down her cheek and she wiped it away harshly.

"Yeah, well..." She sighed. "Story of my life, that."

"It won't be for long." Martha thought she'd misheard. Sweet Mama winked at her and gathered up the finished plate. She started for the door. "Hollar if you need me, you here?"

"Okay…" Martha stared after her.

When Sweet Mama was gone, she shook her head to rid herself of the strangeness of the conversation. She liked Sweet Mama well enough, but she didn't really fancy the cryptic remarks.

Martha knew she needed to do something. Go into West Point, seek out the Sheriff or Deputy Morris. Do some investigating of her own. But right now all she could think about was the fact that The Doctor still wasn't awake. She knelt beside him again, staring at him helplessly.

She was a bloody medical student – there had to be something she could do. His chest rose and fell softly, his breathing having returned to normal. Martha tried to comfort herself – if his fever broke, and his breathing was stabilized, maybe that meant he was turning around. She hoped. She prayed.

His chest rose and fell. Rose and fell. The room was quiet. She heard crickets starting to wake up outside.

Martha's eyes roamed over The Doctor's body. He was slender, but his muscles were toned. His hands…she reached out and touched the one on her side of the cot. They were soft, especially for someone of his lifestyle. Soft and warm, but Martha knew he was capable of performing such feats with those hands. Wielding his sonic (which was currently still resting in her back jeans pocket). Grabbing her hand and holding on tight. Fluttering around the controls of the TARDIS console. He saved people with those hands; moved obstacles out of his path; turned and manipulated time and space…

Now it just lay there.

Her eyes moved up and along his body. She smiled faintly at his curly brown happy trail.

Martha stared at it. She didn't know why…but she had such an urge to reach out and run her fingers through it. She bit her lip. The Doctor lay still, breathing steadily, as unconscious as he had been for nearly eleven hours now. Tentatively, Martha reached out.

Her hand hovered over his torso, at the point on his upper body where his happy trail ended in a little triangle between his pecks. Slowly, she lowered her hand, and touched him. The hair there was surprisingly soft.

Martha felt a wave of affection wash over her as she gently ran her fingertips along the trail of curly brown hair. Down to his belly button. She closed her eyes, making little circles in the soft curls.

The Doctor reached up and took her hand. "That tickles…" he muttered.

Martha's eyes popped open.

He was awake, a soft smile playing at his lips, gazing at her benignly.

She was mortified. And euphoric. "Doctor!"

"Hello." He said simply. Then he broke into a full-blown grin and she felt like sobbing with relief.


	13. Chapter 13

**XIII.**

He still held onto her hand as he sat up.

Martha felt an intense wave of relief and happiness wash over her, and she wanted to hug him tight.

But he simply sat staring at her for a moment, in the quiet, muggy room. His smile faded, and she saw his expression change. "Doctor…?" she whispered, her eyes slipping down to were he was gripping her hand, before launching back up to study his face again.

Some kind of…_look_…had replaced his wide grin. She couldn't quite place it. He leaned forward and reached up with his other hand. She stiffened as he touched her face, wiping away a tear she hadn't realized she'd shed. "Martha Jones, are you crying?"

She nodded. "Happy you're alright, that's all. You gave us quite a scare."

He smiled again slightly, though his brow was furrowed in concentration. "And here I thought you were having a laugh – tickling me while I was defenseless…"

Her cheeks burned. "Sorry."

He shook his head dismissively, still concentrating on something. He leaned ever closer, and the proximity produced a stirring flutter of desire within her, even as it unnerved her somewhat. He wasn't behaving like himself.

"Come here…" His fingers laced in her hair, which had come loose from its bun while she'd been napping the day away. He leaned his face into her neck, pulling her forward. Martha's eyes slipped closed, and she couldn't help responding to his touch. While in the back of her mind she knew this was wrong – The Doctor was definitely behaving strangely – she couldn't stop her body's natural reaction to his closeness.

The Doctor took a deep breath, inhaling generously; his nose buried in her hair. He let go of her hand and reached up to take hold of the other side of her face. Martha came back to her senses, somewhat, and took hold of his wrists. She knew she needed to pull away, demand to know what was wrong with him. The fact that this behavior was wrong to her – that having The Doctor touch her like this was unusual and out of character for him – depressed her somewhat, but she put that feeling aside.

"Doctor…" she breathed.

He moved back suddenly, sniffing the air, and turned to squint at the door. "Do you smell that?"

She blinked, confused. "Smell what? Me?" Martha became a little paranoid – she hadn't showered properly in two days. She discreetly let go of his wrists and angled her face down to sniff herself.

The Doctor shook his head slowly, still staring at the door. "No, it's not you. Your smell is _entirely_ different." He muttered, darkly. "No, this is…"

He paused. Inhaled. Then his eyes lit up, and that familiar, very Doctor-ly grin spread across his face again.

"Marmalade?" His voice rose an octave.

The Doctor let go of Martha's face, jumped up lithely and strode towards the door. Martha sat gaping after him for a second, a little gobsmacked, as he opened the door and stepped out. She got to her feet quickly and followed him. He was striding confidently down the hall, and then jogged down the stairs. Martha struggled to keep up with his long-legged pace, a bit on edge as they descended.

They passed a few boarders on the way, and Martha winced apologetically at them as they paused what they were doing to observe the skinny white man in ill-fitting pajama trousers strolling casually through their house. He nodded in greeting to them, saying cheerily "Hello…I'm The Doctor…er, the kitchen would beeee…?"

Someone pointed, still staring, and The Doctor nodded his thanks, making a beeline for the warm little room adjacent to the parlor and front door at the bottom of the stairs.

He burst through, Martha on his heels. "Doctor…wait…!" she hissed.

He ignored her and stepped inside, his nose in the air. Sweet Mama was preparing some kind of meal, as usual, and she looked startled by their sudden appearance. Martha gestured helplessly, mouthing _'sorry!'_ as The Doctor followed his nose into a large, walk-in cupboard.

He re-emerged again carrying a large jar of dark, thick jam-like stuff. He smiled at Sweet Mama.

"Hello – I'm The Doctor. You must be Sweet Mama." Martha opened her mouth to ask just how he knew that, but she didn't receive a chance. "Is this _marmalade_?"

"Yes…my mama's old recipe…" Sweet Mama was looking at him with a glint of amusement in her eyes. She held a bowl of thick chunks of what looked like lard in her hands. She was stirring it down with a wooden spoon.

The Doctor's amicable smile danced across his face and he looked at Sweet Mama like she was the loveliest person in the world. "May I?" He asked with barely-contained, almost childlike glee.

"Help yaself." She sat the bowl of lard down and fetched him a spoon as he pried open the jar. Martha stood watching him – he stuck his tongue out and curled it over his top lip as he unscrewed the top, like a young boy getting into the forbidden biscuit tin. She scoffed softly, shaking her head in wonder.

He got the jar open and held it up to his nose, inhaling generously again as he had done to Martha's neck and hair. She still felt the ghost of his nose and fingers and mouth on her skin. And, truth be told, she still felt the after effects of how such attentions made her burn deep inside with inconvenient desire. She did her best to ignore it.

The Doctor was shaking his head affectionately at the jar of marmalade – like it was a cute little pet.

"What flavor?"

"Strawberry. I makes it myself every year. Put a little molasses in it so it'll thicken up."

"Ohhh, and you've got little bits of strawberry inside, as well – like the proper British stuff!" He took the spoon from Sweet Mama, pulled out a chair at the little wooden table, and sat down. He tucked in, tapping his bare feet on the floor happily, sticking a healthy spoonful of the stuff into his mouth. His eyes rolled back and he made a noise of pure pleasure, just as Martha had at tasting Sweet Mama's fried chicken.

"Hmm!" He moaned around the spoon. "Martha, you've _got_ to try this! It's amazing! I _love_ marmalade!" His words came out all high-pitched and jumbled, because he was busy sticking another spoonful into his mouth. And then another. And another. Each time reacting to it as if it was the best strawberry marmalade he'd ever tasted.

Martha put her hands on her hips and gave him a look.

He finally took stock of her expression, licking the spoon hungrily. His brow furrowed, but his eyes remained innocently wide. She frowned at him, setting her jaw. The Doctor swallowed ruefully, but kept licking the spoon. Then he pushed the jar reluctantly away, his eyes on hers, and gave the spoon a few extra licks before setting that down as well.

"Sorry." He mumbled guiltily. He licked a couple of fingertips.

"Doctor!"

"Yes, yes, right. Sorry – where were we?"

"What happened to you? I was worried sick! Your clothes were all – _torn to shreds!_ You've been unconscious for at _least_ twelve hours, and I thought…I thought you were…"

The Doctor stood up slowly while she ranted and padded barefoot around the table, his expression now remorseful. He took her in his arms and embraced her tightly. Martha's words died away and she closed her eyes, leaning into him.

"I'm so sorry I frightened you…I know I put you in an awful position, Martha." He rested his chin atop her head. "I should never have left you in the dark like that."

She felt all the tension in her body leave her, pressed against his warm, bare chest. She didn't cry, instead reveled in the very comforting knowledge that he was _alive_. The Doctor was alive and holding her.

And…he was also holding his breath. Did she smell _that_ bad?

She looked up into his eyes. "Doctor, please tell me what _happened_ to you."

He seemed to take a quick breath, gearing up for one of his long explanations. But as he inhaled, he froze, then stepped back from her suddenly. He put some distance between them, wincing slightly, as if he was in pain.

"Doctor, are you alright?" Martha was alarmed, and without thinking she approached him again, making to check him over for hidden or internal wounds that she hadn't noticed before. He grabbed her hands before she touched him, though, and she looked up into his eyes yet again.

"Martha, I need you to…" he looked as though it was hard for him to say it. She was utterly confused. "Please, just…step back a bit?"

She slowly did as he asked, trying not to let it hurt her feelings. Sweet Mama came to stand beside her, still silent and observing the two of them. Her wise, concerned eyes roamed over him carefully. He stood breathing deeply for a moment, his eyes closed. All traces of the delighted, hungry Doctor who had come bounding into the kitchen in search of marmalade had vanished suddenly – and now he looked disturbed by something unseen.

Martha grabbed Sweet Mama's hand, suddenly acutely aware that it was nighttime – and even though she was loathed to admit it to herself, the fact remained that they may not be safe around The Doctor at all.

Sweet Mama squeezed back, but it was a reassuring gesture, not one of alarm.

"Somethin's got a hold on you, son." She murmured.

The Doctor opened his eyes finally, running his hands through his hair. "I'm fine."

"You got to be fightin' it mighty hard to resist such darkness…it can't be easy. You in pain."

He stared at the short old black woman. Then a small smile crept into the corners of his mouth. "And you're an Empath, aren't you?"

He paused – considered her for a few more seconds, then shook his head.

"No…you must be a _Clairsentient_. But it's something more, though. Low level telepathy, as well?"

Sweet Mama tilted her head, as if hearing these words for the first time. Martha had read about them before, when she did her psychiatric rotation. But she had never actually seen any evidence that they were real. They both referred to people who could sense other people's energies – their emotions, their pain, sometimes even their thoughts. Only the former actually _experienced_ these emotions and pains themselves, like they were also going through them physically. It certainly explained a lot about some of the things Sweet Mama had said up til now.

For her part, Sweet Mama seemed to brush the title of her enigmatic 'gift' off. "I just know things sometimes…"

"Well, you're right." The Doctor said gravely. He looked at Martha. "Both of you. I _was_ attacked."

Martha's heart sank.

"I was too distracted figuring out what we're dealing with – I'm so sorry. But this isn't over yet. In fact…" he paused again, did a funny face, and looked down at himself. "Blimey, Martha, did you put me in _child's_ jammies on purpose? I know I left you in a bit of a pickle, but I mean, _really_?"

He looked up at her with mock incredulity; his eyebrows peaked to the ceiling.

Martha burst out laughing, the tension having nowhere to go but into a serious giggle fit. Tears sprouted in her eyes and she wiped them harshly away, taking a shaky breath. Sweet Mama squeezed her hand again.

"No, those are Percy's. They were all I could come up with on short notice. Honestly, I was more worried about the fact that you were unconscious than I was about how they fit. I can't help it if you're freakishly taller than everyone else, mister."

He grinned – a normal, Doctor Grin, thank god. "That's the last time I let you dress me while I'm unconscious recovering from a werewolf attack, then, yeah?"

"Oh, _please_ can it be the last time?" She beamed at him, though she was quite serious.

His eyes bore into hers, and he seemed to be apologizing and making her a promise at the same time in his gaze. But his smile remained. "I'll see to it, Martha Jones."

"Good. You better."

He took a deep breath and scratched behind his ear. Whatever it was about breathing that bothered him before seemed to be better, now. "I guess I have quite a bit to catch you lot up on, eh? Is Mister John around?" He looked about, and was on the point of walking through the other door to the parlor, but Martha cleared her throat.

"Em…Doctor, don't you think you should…I dunno, get dressed first?"

"What, in more child-sized trousers?" He lifted an eyebrow at her. Then ducked his head at Sweet Mama. "No offense to Percy…"

"Actually, I brought your things from the TARD…er, from our _transport_. They're upstairs."

He raised an eyebrow. "What color?"

Martha thought for a moment. "Em…brown with the blue pinstripe, off-white trainers?"

He beamed. "Martha, do I tell you enough what a marvel you are?"

"You can start doing it _a lot_ more when we get out of this."

"Yes ma'am."

"Martha, why don't you help me fetch some water for the Doctor's bath?" Sweet Mama patted her hand and began to shuffle through the kitchen. She touched his arm as she passed. "You need to wash off that evil energy – start fresh. It'll help."

"Thank you." He said genuinely. "That's very kind of you."

Martha turned to follow Sweet Mama out, but not before pausing in front of the Doctor. He titled his head at her, smiling – but his eyes were wary. She understood, and felt a little crushed, that he didn't wish her to get any closer. _Why?_ her mind asked, as she said: "So we'll talk, yeah?"

"Yeah." He nodded.

"Bathroom's on the second floor. Tell whoever's in there Sweet Mama said clear on out, and they better be gone 'fore I get upstairs with this water."

He gave her a casual salute. Paused. Looked at the jar of marmalade. Looked up at her again with a question in his eyes. She chuckled and nodded.

"Help yaself, son. I got a dozen more where that came from."

Looking delighted, the Doctor scooped up the jar and the spoon, waved it at Martha and Sweet Mama, then disappeared back into the foyer.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor paced upstairs in the humid little attic room, holding the jar of marmalade, scooping spoonfuls out of it and sticking them in his mouth every now and then.

He really did love marmalade, but now he was eating it to keep himself in this room, occupied, more than anything. He was bothered. And exhausted…mentally, anyway.

The things going on in his mind while he'd been incapacitated…well…they were disquieting, to say the least. There were more of them – the Haemovariform. The telepathic connection had grown and expanded. Now there were at least a dozen minds linked to it, and it seemed as if there were more on the way. His two friends from the train tracks had been busy in the little time they had before sunrise transformed them again.

This was bad…this was very bad.

They were all human minds; he caught snatches of background for most of them. All innocent humans who'd simply been in the wrong place at the _wrong_ time of day. The only reason the Doctor was not currently subjected to their collective will to bond him to them was because he was much stronger, mentally, than any of them. But, after hours of fighting them off, it really could've gone either way.

Except that he heard a voice. Martha's voice. Pleading with him to come back.

But he was still fighting. Only, he got to be awake while doing it. Conscious, The Doctor was now confronted with resisting his physical instincts to do unnatural things that now seemed the most natural in the world. The lupine cells were multiplying, adapting, embedding themselves in his Time Lord DNA. Clever little beasties. They figured if they couldn't have his mind yet, they could toy with his body.

So – yes - _physically_ he felt excellent. _More_ than excellent. He felt like he could swim the English Channel twice over without breaking a sweat. He felt like he could carry the TARDIS on his back for miles, or run from here to Canada if he so desired.

And there were other noticeable improvements, as well. Namely that he could hear everything going on in the house. He could hear several of the boarders arguing about him and Martha, and the danger they were all facing. He could hear the sounds of the creatures in the woods scampering about in the dark. He could hear the creek water running along, over rocks and earth. He could hear men in the field out back checking the crop for thieves, animal or human, crunching earth under their boots as they walked along the rows of produce. He could hear Mister John on the porch, talking quietly with someone – he had a bit of crush, it seemed. The Doctor wondered if Martha had picked up on it…

He could hear Sweet Mama and Martha pumping water from the well on the side of the house.

He knew that if he looked now, he could see them – but not _just_ see them. He could probably see every age spot on Sweet Mama's skin. Every delicate eyelash of Martha's. Could see her heart fluttering in her chest as she spoke of him with concern.

Poor Martha. Look at him – he had deserted her at the peak of danger, gone and got himself attacked, and was now fighting hard not to devour her.

Yes – that was another thing. His sense of smell was disturbingly acute now, as well.

When he first woke, it was to smell Martha sitting next to him. And she smelled…just _thinking_ about it now made The Doctor swallow hard. He felt a sliver of warm desire mingle with a chord of bloodlust and snake their way through his veins. Her scent was like nothing he'd ever smelled in his 900 some-odd years. Heady and intoxicating; it did two very unsettling things to him. Firstly, made him want her with a desire so powerful that it was all he could do in those first moments after waking not to take her right there.

And secondly, which was quite a bit more alarming than the former, it made him positively _ravenous_. He had been on the brink of either having his way with her or taking her life. Thankfully, the syrupy sweet aroma of strawberry marmalade brought him to his senses.

He paused his pacing and held the jar up to the overhead lamplight. "Cheers for that…" he said to it.

He sighed and scooped out another spoonful, clasping his mouth around it, but not swallowing. He let the gelatinous confection rest on his tongue for a moment and stared at his suit laid out on the little cot, thinking.

Martha was not the only one in danger. He could smell the blood of every occupant in this house. The Doctor was good at self-control. He was a master, truth be told. In fact, he was _so_ good at self-control that it cost him, dearly. He controlled himself right down to losing the opportunity to tell Rose how he really felt about her. And he controlled himself so perfectly that resisting his ever-deepening feelings for Martha got easier and easier every day. So good at it, in fact, that he had even fooled himself into not daring to think about it.

She would _never_ guess how attracted he was to her, how much he admired and cared for her, the way he behaved. That was his aim, of course, never to let her know.

And indeed the ruse was so flawless, it actually surprised _him_ to realize that he'd experienced a flash of jealousy and possessiveness _so_ potent (at witnessing how the men here reacted to her comely shape) that _he'd forgotten that his sonic screwdriver and water do not mix._

So, yes, he was confident that he could manage his bloodlust. He had no desire to harm any of the innocent men here, or anywhere else. And he certainly had no inkling of a wish to hurt Martha. Except that, with Martha, it was a bit of a problem. With her – the same scent that made his mouth water was also the scent that made his trousers feel a bit snug.

"Brilliant…" he chided himself harshly, swallowing the marmalade with difficulty. He'd gone off it, suddenly. As much as he loved the stuff, he fancied he'd eaten a bit more than he should have. "You're a marmalade-devouring, bloodthirsty lycan-stein, now. That's just bloody _fantastic_."

He'd been deep in thought, tuning everything else out, until he sensed someone approaching. The scent was not Martha's, thank Gallifrey. He wasn't surprised to hear Sweet Mama knocking. He went to the door and opened it for her. Her scent was pleasant – like old flower petals pressed in a weathered book. The alluring aroma of her blood hovered just underneath that, but The Doctor, having gorged himself on marmalade, had no problem ignoring it.

She smiled kindly at him.

"Poured you a nice hot bath, Doctor. John and the others are gettin' themselves all worked up, wantin' to talk to ya. But I shooed 'em away until you're all washed up."

"Thank you, Sweet Mama." He gave her a weary smile. "And where might Martha be?" He looked past her, into the hallway, his ears already seeking out the sound of her voice. Odd, how accustomed he'd grown to his heightened senses after only – what? – half an hour?

"I put her in my bath. Got me a private one, away from all these menfolk, on the other side o'the house. My own little sanctuary. She needed the time to herself, bless her sweet soul. She's exhausted – been watchin' over _you_ all day." She winked at him.

"Hm," he cleared his throat and nodded his thanks, looking down at his bare feet. "Right. Of course."

Sweet Mama watched him until he looked up at her again. "Doctor?"

"Yes?" he raised his eyebrows at her.

"She's special."

He opened his mouth to respond, closed it again, puffed out his cheeks, exhaled the air. "Ohhh…well, yes, she is. Very special."

Her wise eyes roamed over his face, and he knew she was doing her clairsentient _thing_, which bothered him a bit more than he would've liked. Being telepathic, he sympathized with her, but also he didn't use his ability unless he really needed to or he couldn't help it. She was actively reading him now. He shifted on his feet, trying to be polite.

She nodded suddenly, and something in her face looked sated, as though she'd found what she'd been looking for.

"There are terrible things in the air…feels like a storm's comin'," she said softly. "Tests are comin' – for all these men, and me – but especially for you. I just hope you find your way out of that maze o'yours by then, Doctor…"

He frowned. "Maze?"

Her kind smile widened. "The one you hide yaself in all the time. The one you use to keep people at a distance. There's someone tryin' to get through. Someone you _need_ if we're all gonna survive this foolishness – more than you know. Let her in?"

The Doctor felt a bit nettled, now, and he fixed her with a guarded gaze. "Thank you for running the bath, Sweet Mama. I'll see you downstairs."

She took the hint and patted him on the cheek before turning and walking away.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha sank into the large iron tub, the milky, warm water folding her up in a soothing cocoon.

A record player was going in the far corner of the room, playing another fuzzy blues record. The somber music wafted towards her, mingling with the night sounds outside the open window.

She sighed and her eyes slipped closed. _Oh, she needed this._ The tension in her body made her muscles ache all over, but now whatever it was Sweet Mama had put in the water (bath salts, from her own recipe, she said) was slowly easing it away.

Her mind would not rest, however. She thought of The Doctor, and his odd behavior. She was determined to watch out for him – her instincts were telling her that he wasn't out of danger yet. He _seemed_ himself, but there was something going on inside, something just under the surface, that she was wary of.

The way he took hold of her when he woke up…

Martha soaked in the water, feeling a flutter of longing in a particular place, and thought of his nose and mouth pressed to her skin. Thought of his hands lacing in her hair. Thought of his slow inhalation, like smelling her was some sort of…indulgence. Her lips parted and she licked them, remembering the sensation. She still felt the ghost of his touch.

Martha lifted her hand and traced her fingers along her neck, where his face had been tucked so close…

"_Stop it_, Jones." She dropped her hand and frowned at her toes peeking up out of the milky water.

Whatever was up with The Doctor, Martha couldn't get caught up in her attraction to him. It was her job to help him, in any way she could. She had to keep her head on straight.

She planned to confront him as soon as she saw him, and demand to know exactly what was going through that brilliant mind of his. _Exactly_ what had kept him out of commission for so long? At least he'd confirmed her most frightening suspicion. He _had_ been attacked by one of those wolf things. And Martha wasn't thick. She had heard and perfectly understood his warnings before they parted ways last night.

If he'd been attacked, that meant he was infected. That meant he was…a werewolf. Even though she'd already guessed that, it still gave her the chills saying it to herself now.

Martha's eyes darted to the window. A cream-colored lace curtain was covering it, but when she squinted she could see the moon, just barely. It wasn't a full moon anymore – a sliver of dark shadow was covering one side of it. The lunar cycle had started over again.

And so far (for the most part), The Doctor was still his bouncy, loquacious self. Not a giant, ferocious beast.

"So that's good," she said to herself. "I guess I'll relax about that part until he steps outside and starts howling."

But she knew she couldn't 'relax about it' – not all the way. The Doctor needed her. She wouldn't let him down. Like he'd taught her, she wouldn't take anything for granted. Not even him.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor scrubba-dub-dubbed in the big iron tub.

He worked fast, anxious to get back to Martha, and the others, and set to work on their little werewolf problem. But he made sure to wash his bellybutton, between his toes, in and behind his ears, and his naughty bits.

He heard commotion all through the house. Sweet Mama had passed on the news that he was awake. Mister John was calling all the boarders to order. The Doctor could tell there was easily a dozen of them. Some of them grumbled riotously – they had their own ideas about what should be done.

He washed under both arms, scrubbed his face with the giant bar of soap (blimey, soap weighed a ton in the 40s), and stood up. The water cascaded down his body, falling back into the tub, leaving him dripping and wiping his face of excess moisture.

The Doctor toweled off and quickly got dressed. He could hear Martha's voice somewhere below, and it made him smile a bit as he did up his necktie. He laced up his trainers quickly, now really anxious to get going.

Finally, he hopped over to the steamed-up mirror, wiped it down, and ran his hands through his hair a few times.

He stared at his reflection. "Good to see a familiar face," he muttered sarcastically, winking at himself. "Let's try to keep the beastie at bay, shall we? No more scaring Martha, if we can help it."

As if on cue, he heard Martha's voice again, this time on the other side of the door: "Doctor?"

The Doctor turned from the mirror and strode over to the door. He opened it.

Martha was on the other side, looking…well…stunning.

She had borrowed a genuine 1940s dress from someone, though from the way she looked in it, he hesitated to think it was Sweet Mama. It was a little black cotton dress with little rosebuds embroidered on it. In true 1940s style, it had a cinched waist and squared shoulders. But the hem stopped just above her knees, which was a bit provocative for the time. She wore black leather high-heeled shoes that buttoned up in the front, so The Doctor didn't tower over her quite as much as usual. Her shining ebony hair was loose, hanging down to her shoulders.

The Doctor couldn't help himself – his eyes roamed over her appreciatively, taking particular notice of how her bosom was tucked curvaceously into the dress, with a button or two loose in a rather comely place.

Her face was radiant; she was smiling up at him, looking fresh and rested from the bath. She hardly wore any makeup, but her cheeks and lips had an attractive flush to them. He quickly realized that was probably because he was staring at her. He was no better, in that moment, than Lenny or Mister John.

"Hello, again. Properly." He returned her soft smile.

"Hello, proper you." She eyed his suit and gave a fond shake of her head. "_Dressed_ you. Boy I never thought I'd be so pleased to see blue pinstripe in my life." Then she did a funny face, squinting and tapping her finger against her lips. "But…there's something missing."

The Doctor's smile faded and he raised his eyebrows. "What is it?" He asked with chagrin.

She revealed her other hand, which had been tucked behind her back. She was holding his sonic screwdriver. He bounced on his toes happily and leaned in to give her a tight hug. As he wrapped his arms around her, he inhaled, and received a blow to the gut at how absolutely _mouthwatering_ she smelled.

Having seen the look of hurt and confusion on her face when he asked her to keep her distance in the kitchen, The Doctor carefully controlled his reaction. He hugged her tight, the scent plundering through him, making his muscles tense, and let her go quickly. He stepped back and she handed him his sonic.

"Thank you," he said softly.

"My pleasure."

"No, Martha…" The Doctor tucked his sonic into his inner jacket pocket and sighed. "I mean _thank you_. Really. You saved me. You found me." He grinned. "In the nick of time, as always. I could've been halfway to Kentucky by now. Knocked out in the back of a dingy train car. Naked."

She laughed – that familiar tinkling, carefree laugh of hers – and he finally wrestled down the urge to take her into his arms again. He would not hurt Martha. He could not. Nor could he…have her. _Self-control, Doctor…_he chided himself.

He held her gaze, trying to convey his trust and appreciation. She sighed softly, and told him with her eyes that it was her pleasure – that she would do it again in a heartbeat, any old time he needed her to.

Then The Doctor lifted his eyebrows and gave her his 'down to business' expression. "Now. What do you say we descend upon the den of Mister's John's men?" He uttered dramatically.

"Back to rhyming again, eh? I think I preferred you in a semi-coma…"

"_Oi…!_" She giggled and he offered her the crook of his arm. "Bang out of order, Jones."

"Just the way you love it." He winked at her as she hooked her arm in his.

He could see that she was relieved. But, Martha was clever – she knew there was something different; something dangerous; lurking around them now like a gorilla in the room. As he could see her relief to have him back, he could also sense her watchfulness. Oh, she was brilliant, his Martha. And he made a promise to himself to explain everything to her…even…even the urge within him to taste her blood. She would be frightened, but he knew she would bear it. He knew she would stay with him, and help him fight this, and see him through.

She didn't have to know that it was one of the reasons he found himself falling deeper and deeper for her every day. She didn't have to know that dueling with his bloodlust, was the urge to make love to her. Noooo…it was better this way. It was better that he kept his feelings locked away. Better for him, and better for her – because if she _did_ grow tired of all this, if she _did_ find one day that this life was too much, he could let her go and she could be happy. It would be easier. And he wouldn't have put his hearts in her hands, and he wouldn't feel as he felt when Rose was torn from his grasp by The Void.

At least…that is what he told himself. Over and over again. Every single day. It was better this way.

They descended the two flights of stairs to where he knew the house's inhabitants had gathered, waiting for them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Thanks all of you for your awesome reviews! I'm really (how do you Brits say?) 'chuffed'! I'm loving writing this even more than you're loving reading it, and your reviews are like crack, seriously. I hope you like this chapter, it's a bit...well...you'll see! More to come, more to come.**

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**XIIII.**

He gripped her hand before they entered the living room.

Martha had an acute sense of the here and now – of her hand in his; of him in his brown suit, of his Doctor-ly smile…and then he was gone again, striding confidently into the 'den of Mister John's men'.

"Hello!" He greeted them all, shoving his hands into his trouser pockets. "Might not bare saying at this point, but…I'm The Doctor."

There was silence. Martha stepped lightly into the room behind The Doctor, and took in the atmosphere. It was humid. The lamps didn't help. Martha was clean, but she suddenly felt sullied by the heat. Thirteen men sat or were stood crowded into the little room, taking up both couches and all the chairs. Mister John was stood next to Chester by the window. Charles was sat in an armchair, flanked by Louis and Buster. Earl hovered in a corner near the door. The other men stared at the two of them. A couple of them were smoking cigarettes. The smell mingled with that smell of whisky and coffee. Sweet Mama was standing behind one of the couches, her hand on a man's shoulder – he looked about her age.

The Doctor puffed out his cheeks and then leaned down to whisper in her ear: "Tough room…"

"Tell me about it." Martha spoke from firsthand experience, having faced these men the night before. "No time for stage fright, mister. You're on."

He straightened up and rocked once on his trainers. "Right. _Allons-y..._"

Martha lifted her chin, ready to back him up as he won them all over – as she knew he would. The Doctor moved forward, and began shaking each man's hand in turn cheerfully. He got all of their names, giving Buster, Earl, and Louis familiar nods and claps on the back. Charles merely gave a jerk of his head for greeting, and The Doctor wisely moved on. He and Mister John exchanged a solemn nod of understanding – Martha fancied she heard The Doctor mutter 'thank you for looking after her' under his breath. She chalked it up to a trick of her ears.

Next The Doctor turned to Chester. Martha had forgotten to mention his arrival. The Doctor held out his hand. Chester took it. "I'm The Doctor."

"Chester Burnett."

The Doctor nodded and they shook. "Good to meet you, Chester Burnett!" He was shaking Chester's hand, and he hadn't let go yet. His face slowly changed – his smile turned to a frown, and his eyes grew wider.

"Chester…_Burnett?_" He asked with mystification.

"That's my name, sir." Chester said, not appearing at all uncomfortable with the way The Doctor was still shaking his hand robotically.

Everyone else noticed, though. They all exchanged glances, and some glanced at Martha with annoyance. She kept her gaze on The Doctor and Chester, trying to figure out what was going through The Doctor's brilliant, but even at the best of times, enigmatic mind.

"Chester _Arthur_ Burnett? Born June 10, 1920? Mother Gertrude Burnett? Father…" The Doctor's eyes darted from Chester's now surprised face to Mister John's, and they went wide with sudden dawning, "…John…Arthur…Grey…"

"That's right." Mister John muttered quietly, eyeing The Doctor. "How did you know all that?"

"Noooo!" The Doctor let go of Chester's hand, stepped back, and grabbed at his own hair, still looking at him with a mixture of bemusement and shock. "You're _Chester Arthur Burnett?_ Otherwise known as…?"

He turned his wide-eyed gaze to Martha.

"Martha, do you know who this is?"

Martha furrowed her brow and shook her head vaguely, totally confused.

The Doctor bounced on his feet, rudely pointing to Chester like a kid pointing out a toy he wanted in the shop to his mum. "Ohhh, come on Martha! This is Howlin' Wolf!"

He flipped around and took Chester's hand again, shaking it like a gushing fan.

"You're _the_ Howlin' Wolf, aren't you? Ohh, it's an honor! I'm a huge fan, so is Martha – right Martha? You walked for four days, all the way here, _barefoot_, you did. Didn't you? Legendary stuff, mate, _legendary!_"

Everyone gaped. Even Chester looked a little nervous at The Doctor's manic enthusiasm and simply uncanny knowledge of his life and background.

Then Martha noticed The Doctor draw in a deep breath, freeze where he stood, and exhale slowly. Martha frowned, turning to watch him. His face was now hardened with restraint. He opened his mouth. Closed it. Then held up a finger.

"Er…hold that thought, just a tick…"

Martha wanted to protest, but he had already turned to Sweet Mama. She watched The Doctor look at her with a question in his eyes – just like before, in the kitchen.

Sweet Mama smiled encouragingly. "Got a box on the floor under the shelf in the cupboard. To keep it cool…" she told him.

Probably no one in the room understood what they were on about; most of them exchanged exasperated or confused glances. But Martha had a hunch, and she couldn't help a feeling of concern as The Doctor turned on his heel and disappeared through the door to the kitchen. She turned back to the crowd of waiting men and smiled apologetically.

"What the hell was _that_ foolishness?" Charles grumbled to Mister John.

"You just hush up and listen to that man," Sweet Mama chided. "He ain't no fool."

Charles scoffed, but Martha was appreciative of Sweet Mama's defense of The Doctor. A few seconds later, he reappeared, carrying a jar of Sweet Mama's homemade marmalade and a spoon. It wasn't as dark as the other jar. It had an orangey-pink tint to it. Martha could see the skins of the fruit Sweet Mama used. The spoon was in his mouth and he swallowed. He took another helping as the men stirred restlessly, ate it down and cleared his throat.

He winked at Martha and gestured with the spoon. "Apricot!" he said delightedly, then his face was serious again just like that, and he addressed the room at large. "Sorry about that! Where was I?"

"Doctor…?" Mister John took a step forward.

"Just The Doctor."

"Well, just Doctor – you seem to know a lot about me and my boy. Out of everythin' I seen since you come here; that's the strangest. So, if you got somethin' to say, now'd be a good time to say it."

"Of course."

The Doctor handed the jar of marmalade to Martha, who took it begrudgingly, really feeling the tension building in the room. She felt that with these men, getting to the point quickly would be the best course of action. The Doctor obviously felt the same way.

"This area has been invaded by Haemovariform warriors who've taken part-human, part-lupine form." He said matter-of-factly, eyeing them all with his eyebrows peaked to the ceiling, his hands in his pockets.

Everyone stared at him like he had two heads. Martha shot him a look, encouraging him to elaborate. He sighed.

"Right, in other words – _werewolves_. Their main objective – apart from turning every human within twenty kilometers of here into a werewolf, or…food – is finding _him_," he pointed to Chester.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Deputy Morris moved through the trees, his eyes everywhere at once. About a dozen other men moved around him – all spaced out in a perimeter of about the size of a baseball diamond. They'd started in town, when the sun was still up.

Morris had strange dreams, and Martha Jones' face hovered in some of them. Her warning. He looked up at the moon, now. Clouds were passing over it, but even if there weren't it's light wouldn't reach them. It had been the last night of the full moon last night, and now what rested in the inky sky was a circular, shadowy orb. A thin sliver of silvery surface peeked out at him from under the clouds. He scoffed. _So much for stayin' in the moonlight_…he thought, and Martha Jones came into his mind yet again, as it had perhaps a dozen other times that day.

They were headed towards the creek, spread out, their torches aloft, their rifles at the ready. Ed paused in the brush and flicked his flashlight on and off – the signal they agreed on to announce when they stumbled upon any clue of the animal. Everyone halted and Deputy Morris squinted at Ed's still figure.

"False alarm – it's a red wolf…" he called quietly.

They moved on.

So far, there had been no word from the hospital of any improvement or change in the patients' conditions. They were still unconscious, not a scratch on them. Morris was puzzled, but he told the doctor to hold off sending for other medical opinions. It may not have been the wisest thing to do – but he had a hunch. Some underlying instinct to wait. Was he waiting until he found the _other_ doctor – the one traveling with Martha?

He didn't know.

They trudged on.

Deputy Morris let his feet carry him, walking on with his eyes peeled on the shadows in the trees, and knew in the back of his mind that he would stop by and check in on the GYST House. He would only take Ed, being the calmer, more sensible of his two fellow officers, and send the rest on up the creek.

Something about that Martha…and the man that, so far, he hadn't seen or heard a stitch of information about. Maybe he was being foolish. But in his life, living in this town, surrounded by people he knew he didn't quite fit in with – he found himself having instincts that went against the norm quite regularly.

Most of the time, he stood by. Most of the time, like so many times with the Sheriff, he opted to keep his strife concerning some of the things he'd seen to himself. He went along. He tried to make up for it where he could. He let the higher-ups be, and kept his head down.

Not this time.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Oh, The Doctor hated times like these. But, alright, secretly kind he of loved them.

He needed their help, but he would have to convince them to trust him. That's where his cleverness and powers of persuasion came in.

But that wasn't really a concern of his – convincing these men, who weren't attempting to hide their suspicions of him, was a walk in the park compared to what was also _quite_ palpable. So much in fact that he was now regularly returning to Martha to scoop from the jar of apricot marmalade. It was the scent of blood in this room. Thick, heady, clouding his thoughts a bit, and _oh_ was it mouthwatering.

Martha's scent mingled with everyone else's, adding considerably to the potent mix of temptation. The windows were open, but the humid night only afforded him the slightest of breezes.

And what was more – Chester 'Howlin' Wolf' Burnett was right there, within his reach. The presence of the man who was a vital target of a collective consciousness skulking around in his mind put him on edge.

He couldn't stand still. Yes, The Doctor was by nature a manic being who didn't stand still very much in the first place, but there was a menace to his restlessness now that he was struggling to tame. He felt his new instincts clamoring to take over. He felt the ghost of his beastly form, snarling and snapping and clawing the walls of the train car. The Doctor was good at self-control – _more_ than good – but this room full of men and the near-stifling smell of their blood coating the air was proving to be a bit of a distraction.

His good-natured attitude dimmed, and he instead focused on getting out what he had to say and then getting _out of this room_. Away from the tantalizing scent. Away from Chester. The Wolf. The Alpha.

Ohhh, this was bad.

He didn't care what the others thought of his behavior, but he did notice the mounting concern in Martha's eyes.

"Alright!" He started when several of the men began talking at once. "Here's the thing…" he dropped his voice dramatically, his agitated state making him no sufferer of fools. "There is a war raging thousands of light years away – in a galaxy called the Arch System."

"The _what_, now?" Charles barked. The Doctor turned his gaze on the middle-aged black man with the red freckles.

"The _Arch System_." He repeated bluntly. He heard Martha shift uncomfortably on her feet near him, but he had no patience for politeness. He rattled off what he knew full throttle, rapid fire, running his hand through his hair as he paced. He had a lot to explain to them, and his discomfort was mounting. "It's a small galaxy, but a valuable one for whoever has control of it. A cluster of industrial planets whose inhabitants specialize in intergalactic warfare. They're weapons manufacturers, since the beginning of their existence they've built and secured military breeding colonies, working tirelessly, _obsessed_ with creating the perfect soldiers – the deadliest weapons in the universe.

_But_ – the universe is a _biiig_ place. What they didn't count on was another species doing exactly the same thing hundreds of galaxies away."

The Doctor had their attention – he was like a father at story time. His deliverance grew even more rapid, and he gripped the air with his fingers to emphasize the crushing brutality of the species he would speak of next.

"Creatures with the same conscienceless motives, the same single-minded drive to conquer, were breaking free from the masters that created them to do what they were designed to do without restraint. They burned their way through planet after planet, species after species, hell bent on destruction and chaos-"

"The Clades!" Martha gasped, interrupting him.

The Doctor lowered his hand and turned to her. She was looking at him, the memory of their run in with the Clade Warriors, in the homestead town of Redwater, blazing in her eyes. He nodded gravely.

"Yes. This might even be linked to what happened in Redwater."

"But, how? That Clade gun thing crashed, didn't it? And that was in the 1800s, how does that add up?" Martha stepped forward, gripping the jar of marmalade.

The Doctor sighed. "Time isn't a straight line, Martha, you know that."

Her eyes narrowed as she thought about it, and The Doctor felt pride poke at him, despite all the other sensations coursing through him, as he watched her work it out on her own.

"…do you mean…this werewolf…the one we saw…crashed too?"

He nodded again. She bit her lip. He almost wanted to smile. He couldn't – he smelled blood. He kept himself under constant restraint. But now it was like they were the only two people in the room. He didn't know what the other blokes – and Sweet Mama – were doing while he watched Martha ruminate. He didn't care all that much. He watched Martha.

Her eyes lit up and she focused on him again. "The Clades caught up with the..the Huma…vermiform? And what happened – there was some sort of altercation, obviously…and they both crashed. But in different times, in different places. And the same thing that Clade was doing in 1880, this Huma-veriform thing is doing here, isn't it?"

At that, The Doctor actually did manage a grin. Martha's cleverness never ceased to amaze him.

"Spot on, Martha Jones."

"Thank you, Doctor."

He lifted the spoon, and a suggestive eyebrow, at her. She gave him a smirk, took the spoon, and scooped out some marmalade for herself. She swallowed and nodded at him.

"It _is_ delicious!"

"_Isn't_ it?" He agreed enthusiastically.

"Alright, goddamnit!" Charles the tetchy freckled chap jumped up glaring. "Enough with this fairy tale bullshit! You better start talkin' some _sense_, Jack, or Imma toss ya skinny ass out there in them trees to get ate up like Percy Daniels!"

"Charles Hudgeons!" Sweet Mama snapped. "That ain't _no_ kinda thing to say in my ho-!"

"Stay outta this, Sweet Mama…" Charles warned. "All of ya'll are sittin' here with ya heads on backwards, listenin' to this crock of shit. I'm givin' this sucka five minutes to say somethin' that _means_ somethin' 'fore I get my pistol."

The Doctor sighed, scratching his forehead to stall for patience, and turned to face him. He met Charles' eyes, and his bloodlust flared. His temper was especially sensitive, what with the influence of lupine instinct coursing through him. If it were a full moon…The Doctor didn't want to think about it. He felt Martha's calming touch on his arm. He didn't look at her. He was afraid of what she might see in his eyes, as she already seemed to sense his confliction. She knew him…she knew him well enough to know that he was a ticking time bomb, of sorts.

Mister John spoke up as the two men stared each other down. "Charles…relax." He stepped forward and put a hand on Charles' arm. Then his eyes moved to catch The Doctor's. He returned the man's gaze. "Doctor…please tell us what all this means. And why you say they comin' after my son."

Charles The Wolf simply stood, eyeing The Doctor with a stoicism and an intensity beyond his years.

Again The Doctor sighed. He ignored Charles as Mister John's hand guided him back to his seat. He didn't look happy about it. The Doctor didn't care.

"Martha's right – the Clades and the Haemovariform are at war. The one that ended up here was shot down by a Clade fighter ship. He was displaced, out of time and space, and crashed somewhere near; probably wherever your friend Percy was in those woods. I'm so sorry, but he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

"Thing is – before it crashed, the Haemovariform had time to think. To plan. But only _just_ enough time to…_scrape_ together a scheme, based on where he was headed. Their technology is based on a collective consciousness, much like the Clades, but different."

He began to pace again, running his hands over his face. Thinking, working it out as he went. Martha was used to this, but the others stirred where they sat or stood, uneasy and struggling to keep up with him.

"He was on the run. His leader has been assassinated – they need a new one, or they'll lose this war. So he's here…and when he realized that humans are perfect hosts, he was realizing at the same time that there was – to him – a perfectly suitable candidate for leadership."

"Oh my god…" Martha whispered, her eyes widening. "No."

He nodded, still not meeting her gaze.

"Doctor, are you sure?"

"They need an Alpha, a leader who will secure a bond they all share, one who's every _whim_ is felt like an all-consuming, unbending and unbreakable chain that turns them any way he chooses. Being bred with lupine DNA, naturally he saw a spark of recognition in one name.

A famous name round these parts in this time. A name that peeked his interest. One that served as some sort of beacon of hope for his galaxy's salvation."

"…what name…?" Mister John asked, though The Doctor could see in his eyes that he already knew.

The Doctor turned to look at Chester, who lifted his chin as if facing down a bully without fear. The Doctor admired his bravery. "The Howling Wolf. The man whose voice will influence and mesmerize people all over the world for years to come."

Martha shook her head. "But…that's unbelievable! Why not go after a president or someone with a military background or something?"

The Doctor remained facing Mister John and Chester as he answered her. "The soldier made due with what little time and information he had. He chose Chester, The Wolf, under extreme circumstances. And besides, Martha…"

Finally he turned to look at her.

"These creatures' very existence is based on a bond that takes all emotion, all sensory indulgence, all of the things in the mind that make a person unique and turning it on itself. They bend everything to one will. And this man…" He pointed to Chester. "Is a master at that, not because he's a dictator or a political figure…no he has something much more powerful.

_Music_, Martha. It's what I brought you here to experience first hand – it's powerful stuff; a form of hypnotism in its own right. It _moves_ people, it _stirs_ them deep inside…and he has the power to influence them in the most intimate of ways."

There was silence again. The crickets outside made noise of eerie applause. The Doctor pitched forward and took the spoon from Martha. She stared at him as he scooped out more marmalade, and he let the smooth stuff slide down his throat.

"Good Lord…" someone – sounded like Louis – spoke behind him. "I plum don't know what to make of all this! What you say, boss? This make any sense to you?"

Everyone turned to Mister John. He seemed deep in thought. The Doctor casually scooped out more marmalade, even though, as before, he was going off it. The apricot smell eased him somewhat, but it was a poor defense against this room.

"Doctor…how do you know this?" It was Chester who spoke, now. His classic voice – one The Doctor had listened to on records and recognized instantly, was calm and even authoritative.

The Doctor swallowed the marmalade down and removed the spoon from his mouth. He tapped it against his forehead softly before answering. "That's…a bit more difficult to explain."

"That thing you did – in that clearing last night." Mister John interjected. "You…you touched that demon dog, right on it's head. Like you was…like you was readin' it's mind."

The Doctor lifted his eyebrows and dipped his head from side to side. He exhaled. "Orrrr…well…_that's_ pretty spot on, as well."

"Don't make no goddamn sense…" Charles muttered.

The Doctor glared at him, his temper flaring instantly. "Well it's _what's happening_, so try and get that through your thick brain. Being a tetchy git won't solve anything, so get a grip, will you?"

Charles stood up abruptly and made to charge at him. The Doctor felt carnality engulf him, and he lost his perfect self-control for a split second. Charles raised a fist, but The Doctor had blocked the blow before it even got underway.

"Doctor, no!" Suddenly Martha was next to him, the jar of marmalade was on the floor, and Charles' fist was being crushed in The Doctor's grip. The big man buckled to his knees. Every single person started, his friends rose to their feet. Martha pressed her tiny body into The Doctor, a small, fragile shield against the animosity in the room.

The Doctor let go the instant Charles was on his knees, and he stepped back in horror. He looked at Martha, who was now hovering over Charles – her instincts as a doctor in training, and her compassion driving her actions – but she was staring at him with shock. The rest of them were closing in, anger and mistrust in their eyes. Mister John looked conflicted. He was obviously behind his friend – and also obviously behind The Doctor. A precarious position. Chester stood next to his father, still as stoic and intense as ever.

Sweet Mama tentatively stepped forward – the only one who reached out to him – her eyes full of an intimate understanding of his feelings just then. He was revolted by the scene; by what he had done; by what he was _about_ to do. He stood, breathing hard, inhaling the overpowering scent of the blood coursing through each and every person's veins.

And it was too much.

He backed out of the room, running a hand through his hair, and disappeared through the door.


	15. Chapter 15

Forgot to mention - all the stuff in the previous chapter about the Clades came from the Doctor Who book featuring Ten and Martha, _The Peacemaker._ It was written by James Swallow and it's one of the best DW books I've read so far. Once again, thank you all for your reviews. I just love reading them, they make my day every time I receive one. Not ashamed to admit that. This chapter isn't really what I call a _chapter_, but it's a bit of Martha/Ten attention that I felt served as a bridge between major points in the plot. Next update will be more involved, including Deputy Morris and The Doctor meeting for the first time, a trip into West Point, and a bit of a twist involving Percy and Fletch. ;P

Enjoy!

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**XV.**

"Can you move your fingers?"

Martha got her nerves under control, and tried to focus on checking to make sure Charles was alright. But her mind was reeling, with a thousand questions and concerns for The Doctor.

Charles winced, flexed his hand a bit, and nodded shakily. Martha breathed a sigh of relief. "I don't think it's broken; maybe a slight metacarpal fracture. It's swelling already..." What she wouldn't give for an x-ray machine and a light box. "For now, we can wrap it and put some ice on to get rid of the swelling, but I wouldn't try to use your hand much for until it goes down, yeah?"

He nodded again, his eyes dancing up to hers for a second. He looked a little shamefaced; his pride had been wounded, no doubt.

Funny how, injured as he was, his hostile demeanor deflated. It seemed that The Doctor took him quite by surprise – he probably expected to be able to beat him to a pulp without much effort. It brought memories of when Martha allowed herself to be chatted up by guys like Charles all the time, back when she was naive enough to think their bravado was kind of attractive. But she was just a teenager then. She knew better now. They made a show of themselves, men like Charles, but if anyone took them by surprise the way The Doctor had they were like ants losing their place in line.

"How the hell did that skinny som'bitch _do_ that…?" Someone muttered. Martha thought that was a very good question.

Sweet Mama brought her ice for Charles' hand, and she bound it tightly with him making noises of pain. "Don't matter. I'm gonna smack the shit outta that cracker with my _good_ hand…" he grumbled.

"You ain't gon' do no such thing," Mister John interjected. "_I'll_ talk to him."

"Oh that's how it is, huh John?" Chester helped Charles to his feet. "How many years we known each other, and you gon' side with this lily white crackpot?"

Mister John stepped closer to him, his eyes urgent. The whole room hung on his words, now. "Think on it for one goddamn minute, Charles! Look what happened to Percy – what happened to Lenny and Walter! Remember what I told you, what we _all_ told you, what we seen with our own eyes!"

Charles opened his mouth to speak, still stubborn, but Mister John cut him off.

"Some _strange shit_ is goin' on here, and I don't know about any of ya'll, but _I_ sure as shit ain't seen nothin' like it before! Yet this man – her friend," he pointed at Martha, "knows what he's talkin' about. He's seen things…he _knows_ things.

I can feel it. It don't make much sense right now, but neither does _any_ of this. Maybe he can help us. Maybe he's _tryin'_ to help us, and instead of flappin' ya gums all night, maybe it'll do you some good to just _listen_, man!"

They continued to argue. Soon Earl, Louis, and Buster jumped in – even Sweet Mama spoke up. Martha stood aside for only a moment, and then her need to go to The Doctor propelled her out of the hot room with the bickering men.

She slipped out and quickly looked around. The front door was open, and through the screen door, she could see him standing in the yard. He was way down by the road, past the rickety sign. His legs were spread in an upside down V, his head up, his arms hanging outward at his sides, still breathing hard. She could see his upper torso inflating and deflating as he pulled in buckets of air.

She swallowed down her anxiousness and walked forward, clenching her hands.

Martha stepped through the screen door, and she felt her suspicions about what was wrong with him mounting as she approached. The night air was thick and warm, and it made the fabric of the dress she wore feel heavy.

His breathing slowed as she approached, and she could tell by the way he stiffened slightly that he could hear her coming.

When she reached the gate, she paused, longing to move forward but trying to give him space. In case…she didn't let her mind go there.

"Doctor…?" she whispered.

He lowered his head to stare at the ground, his breathing now relaxed to normal. He didn't answer.

She took a tentative step forward.

"Please…" she grit her teeth, annoyed with the lump of apprehension in her throat. "Talk to me."

He remained staring at the ground for an agonizing second, and then he turned to face her. Martha gasped. For just a fraction of a moment, as he faced her, his eyes caught the light of the lone lamppost nearby. They were not his eyes. They glinted silver. Silvery white. Like the terrifying orbs of the beast that attacked them in the woods. Like they did in her nightmare…

The sight gave her such a fright that her heart skipped a beat.

"I don't want to hurt you, Martha…" he breathed, his voice low and menacing, but also thick with emotion.

Martha swallowed hard, her heart now beating furiously in her chest, as if it would burst through any moment. She shook her head, trying to convey trust in her gaze. "You won't. You couldn't."

"Oh, but I _could_…" and he stepped back, into the shadows of the trees that were behind him on the edge of the road. And the light caught his eyes again, but this time it remained. _And how they gleamed_. Silver. White. Cold. Hungry. Terrifying. "In fact, it's a strong possibility right now. I want…I need…"

He didn't finish, but she knew what he meant. It sent a chill right through her, from her hair follicles to the tips of her toes.

But this was The Doctor! _Her_ Doctor. Even if Martha didn't love him so much, she would still have faith in him. She would still trust him with her life…she could not believe what he was saying. And then, a thought hit her, and she looked up at the moon. The crescent moon with only a small sliver of surface lit from the sun. She looked down at him again, and he was still in the same position, standing rigidly, staring at her with his own gleaming crescent moons in his eyes.

She actually smiled. He grimaced. "But you _couldn't_…don't you see, Doctor? The moon isn't full! You're still yourself, you haven't transformed!"

He licked his bottom lip, his eyes narrowing at her like he wanted to resist what she was saying. But, underneath his sinister gaze, she could see his mind working. She could see him coming back to her. She took a step forward.

"Martha, _don't!_" he snapped. More like snarled.

She jumped a little, but kept moving forward.

"And if you haven't done by now…" she said firmly.

He looked agitated – angry and afraid. She kept moving.

"You won't."

His fists clenched, his eyes shining, his face a mask of tension. He was looking at her as if he was torn between attacking and running. She didn't care, she pressed on and in a few confident strides she had reached him. He seemed to hold his breath; his body stiffening dramatically as Martha reached up and wrapped her arms around his neck.

He stood as still as stone for a moment.

"You won't hurt me, Doctor. I trust you…I…" she didn't finish. She wanted to say it – that she loved him. Bust instead she hugged him tight. This wasn't about her. This was about him coming to his senses; he only needed to know that his friend trusted him, nothing more.

Slowly, he started breathing again. Tentatively, as if he was still afraid of himself. Then his body relaxed and he brought his arms up to fold around her small frame. He did it loosely at first, but after a moment he clung to her. Then he lifted her.

Martha shut her eyes, reveling in the sensation of his arms around her. She could feel his twin hearts beating against her chest. Then he leaned his face down, like he did in Percy's room, and breathed her in. He spoke as he exhaled, his voice muffled by her hair, his breath warm on her neck: "You're brilliant, you know that?"

She laughed. "And _you're_ a bit of a mess, aren't you? You almost broke Charles' hand, you know."

He sat her down on her feet again. He sighed. Then muttered, "I'd like to say he deserved that…"

Martha hesitated before looking up into his eyes again. For the moment, the agitation seemed to have passed. His eyes were normal-looking again, dark and deep and ancient. Martha did a face.

"But you won't, because you know he didn't." She couldn't help a smile. "Well, maybe just a little bit. But still – that wasn't _you_. I know that."

He gave her a faint smile in return. She gazed up at him, her Doctor, and their eyes remained locked that way.

And Martha felt her heart going to work on her as he stepped closer. She saw that same look in The Doctor's eyes as he'd had when he woke earlier that evening. A question; a curiosity; something tugging at him; something he couldn't resist reaching out to touch…

"How'd you come to know me so well, Martha Jones?"

She wanted to breathe, but it was difficult. She felt her whole face soften, and knew – with mortification – that she wasn't hiding her longing and anticipation very well. "Do I?"

He reached up and touched her face. He nodded, very slightly. He was concentrating on something. Her lips. His thumb glanced across them, and Martha felt her thighs quiver. "Yes…even when I forget, myself. There you are…to remind me…" he breathed.

Then he kissed her. In a fluid rush of exhalation and movement, his lips were on hers, his fingers in her hair. It was faintly reminiscent of the 'genetic transfer' that started Martha's journey towards loving this man. Only this time it was _real_. She felt it in the heat of desire that now spread through her; in his body leaning into hers; his warm, soft hands; his lips pressing on hers and peeling away ever so gently.

Then the kiss grew more persistent; more urgent; hungrier. He gripped her face; pressing himself into her; kissing her lips over and over again like a starving man searching for any hint of sustenance. Martha gripped the collar of his suit jacket, practically melting against him. The Doctor breathed hard through his nostrils, but his mouth did not open and his tongue did not intrude. As intense as it was, it was still somewhat chaste. An indulgence, like before.

Then he stepped back, abruptly, letting her go. "I'm sorry…!" He panted, slightly, his eyes wide and his teeth clenched.

She hadn't even been aware that her eyes were closed, so lost was she in the sensation of his lips on hers. Martha opened them now and looked at him, her brow furrowing, her heart still pounding. She saw those crescent moons again, only for a moment, before he looked away and ran his hands fitfully through his hair.

He began to pace. "I'm so sorry, Martha. It's-it's not you – it's not your fault. It's…" He stopped and gave her a beseeching look; desperate for her to understand. "I can…" The Doctor squeezed his eyes shut, a mixture of irritation and chagrin on his face, before he continued. "I can…smell you…and it…has more than one effect on me."

"What exactly do you…smell?"

"Your blood," he stared at her for a moment; and then his eyes moved up and down her body, lingering on a particular place below her pelvis that made Martha feel numb all over, "…among other things."

"And…" she had to swallow, his intense gaze making her mouth dry, "…and when you say 'more than one effect'?"

He looked remorseful. "It's like you said. I wasn't myself. You _know_ me; I wouldn't do that unless-" He stopped short.

"So…the only reason we just…is because of…?"

The Doctor nodded; looking a bit ashamed of himself.

She felt heat sprout at her temples. "Right." She couldn't decide if she were furious or hurt or if she just felt like the biggest idiot in the world. Perhaps all three. She glared at him. "A side-effect. Of course. I mean, I knew that – I've seen all the movies."

She looked away from that damned apologetic expression of his and tucked her hair behind her ears.

"So d'you have super-human strength, then? You really _would've_ crushed Charles' hand, wouldn't you?"

"Yes."

"And you can smell my blood. Who else? Everyone?"

"Yes."

"What else should I know about?" Martha spoke stiffly, trying to quell her anger. "I just want to prepare. You know, be ready, in case you try to snog Sweet Mama next, or break more than bones."

The Doctor flinched, but didn't argue.

"I can see everything; every detail, even microscopically if I concentrate." He nodded towards the house. "I can hear them arguing about us right now. Yes, I can smell blood. Yes, I could probably do _more_ than crush the bones in a man's hand.

"And…yes…I find myself…desperately…wanting to make love with you. But, at the same time…Martha, I could kill you. Just like that. Your scent is that appealing to me."

"What _is_ this, a bloody teen romance novel?" Martha turned around in a circle in exasperation.

"No, this is the situation we're in. It's rubbish. I'm so sorry."

"Just stop apologizing!" she snapped. Martha collected herself. No, she wouldn't let this make her start acting like a wounded teenager. She would get it together, _right now_, and she would be damned if she would let The Doctor see any trace of hurt in her eyes. She thought…she had _really_ thought…after all this time…

But, no. _Of course_, that wasn't the case. She was being a twit. He wasn't himself. Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps Martha didn't know him quite so well as she liked to think.

"So, what do we do now?" She asked him after a moment, crossing her arms.

He raised an eyebrow and his eyes narrowed passed her, at the house. "First, I face the music. They're coming out. All of them."

Martha turned around. She didn't see anyone. Then she remembered that he could hear what was going on inside. She watched. A few seconds later, and there they came, lead by Mister John.


	16. Chapter 16

Hello there. Couple of things: this was broken up, the second part of which I'm finishing right now to be posted ASAP. It was just so long, I decided to make it two chapters. Sorry! Also, at this point Martha still doesn't know that Time Lords regenerate. I mention it because she'll be doing some reflection in this chapter that may or may not raise that question for you, so I'm answering it now. Cheers, and thanks for reading!

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**XVI.**

It wasn't a total lie, The Doctor rationalized.

He was telling the truth, at least partially – he _had_ kissed her because of how overwhelmingly attracted he was to her scent. And because his body was reacting to instincts that went against his rigid self-control. The creeping, menacing influence of the wolf was fighting him every step of the way, tempting him to give in and indulge himself.

He still felt it, now. Even as he and Martha made their way slowly back towards the gate and met the dozen men (plus Sweet Mama) led by Mister John at the front porch. He kept his hands in his pockets, and tried to keep his eyes front, but he could still smell her. He could still feel her soft lips on his, taste her, feel her body against his. His hearts were still pounding, and his fingers itched to touch her smooth, warm skin again.

But underneath all that, he admitted to himself that he'd wanted to kiss her properly for quite a while. It was only his self-denial that kept him in check; his need to make things as uncomplicated as possible. And right alongside, there was his grief for Rose; his loneliness; his anger at her loss…all still too fresh. Still too delicate.

Martha was caught in the middle. Feeling her own feelings, shouldering the burden of all his baggage all on her own. He knew it was unfair, and selfish of him. When he _tried_ to do the right thing and see her safely back to a normal life away from him and all this, she had but to ask and he gratefully swept her away again. He couldn't help himself. He had wanted her; wanted her with him, near him, her hand in his; from the moment he met her. He wanted to show off and he wanted to impress her and he wanted to see her beautiful eyes light up. He wanted her energy, needed her vitality and her intelligence, and now he couldn't stop seeking it…seeking it…and that need was developing into attraction…heavy, stifling attraction…and he just couldn't _not_ kiss her!

It was a moment that had been building up since the beginning, and he'd be a fool to deny it. From the first time he looked into her eyes and saw what _she_ could see in _him_, he migrated towards Martha Jones like a moth to a – oh, couldn't he come up with a cleverer metaphor than _that_? Blimey, he _was_ a bit of a mess…

And a fine job he was doing of keeping things uncomplicated. He was completely thick! Ohhhh, why did he have to go and attack her that way, like a great big, slobbering hard-on? Then telling her that as far as certain death and a stolen snog went, it could've gone either way. Brilliant, Doctor, just _brilliant_!

She hid it well, but he saw that he had hurt her. Something he'd been trying to avoid. Never seemed to succeed, though, did he? Every time he tried not to hurt Martha Jones it seemed that was _exactly_ what he ended up doing. He was a prat, that's all there was to it. An old, thick, useless prat.

Speaking of which…Charles was glaring at him. Oh, he hated this part. The Doctor glanced sideways at Martha once before he moved forward. She stared straight ahead, her expression unreadable. He longed to have her look at him, just once, with her usual expression of faith and trust, before he had to smooth this Charles business over. She didn't turn.

He supposed he deserved that. He made a mental note; swore to himself that he would make it up to her. Somehow. If they got out of this.

The Doctor removed his hands from his pockets and stepped forward. He reached into his inner jacket pocket and retrieved his sonic screwdriver. "I'd like to take a look at your hand, if that's alright?"

Charles eyed the device skeptically and exchanged glances with Mister John before allowing The Doctor to examine him.

Having heard most of the row in the house while he and Martha were down by the road, he knew that Mister John had put his foot down, so to speak, in defense of the strangers with the wild stories of aliens and werewolves at war. He had to admit, he quite liked Mister John. The man had an open mind, which was rare and very impressive in these times; especially in the American South.

The Doctor gently took Charles' bandaged hand (Martha's handiwork, no doubt) and ran a scan with his sonic. The mechanism whirred and then clicked. He checked the readings. "Well, it's not broken. Just keep that ice on. You'll be fine."

The Doctor let go of Charles' hand and replaced his screwdriver. He and Charles locked eyes. Everything was silent for a moment as they read each other's expressions. As one would expect from men like Charles, the agreement between them was unspoken but clear: The Doctor would stay out of his way if he stayed out of The Doctor's.

The Doctor lowered his chin and lifted one eyebrow. "Alright?"

Charles nodded gruffly. "Yeah."

"Good." And then The Doctor grinned and clapped his hands together once. "Now! Come with me, all of you. I wanna show you lot something!"

He hopped down from the porch and strolled to the middle of the yard. Martha finally looked at him; her expression was appraising. "Well done…" she murmured, referring to his silent truce with Charles.

He winked at her. Her eyes slipped away from his and he took that to mean she was still reeling from his alarming admission of wanting desperately to either murder or have his way with her. She was quite right to be put out.

Somewhat contrite (though of course he wouldn't let that show), The Doctor turned to watch the men gather in the center of the yard near where he and Martha stood. Sweet Mama came to stand next to Martha, taking her hand and squeezing it supportively.

It reminded The Doctor of the Jardwin lynx, an animal species originating somewhere in the Cassavalian Belt. Jardwin females, if outnumbered, immediately bonded and looked out for each other. The males were brutal and cruel, only regarding the females as breeding vessels; nothing more. It was risky if a female was alone in a tribe of all males. Rape, brutality, even murder occurred in those situations. Unless she had a companion; a sister or mother to look out for her. Then it wasn't so bad. Beautiful creatures. Their fur was as smooth as silk, bluish black…their eyes were milky white and they were so graceful…Martha might marvel to watch them hunt. He might take her to see. Magnificent to behold, unless you got too close, of course…then, it was best to run.

Was he like a male Jardwin lynx? Was he being cruel to Martha, leaving her to fend for herself, confusing and using her because he so selfishly wanted her but didn't dare give in to what _she_ wanted? And Sweet Mama – short, elderly, telepathic little Sweet Mama – she was Martha's Jardwin mother figure…all supportive smiles and jars of marmalade and cryptic warnings about tests and mazes…

Where was he?

Right.

The Doctor pointed to the sky. "D'you see that?" The men crossed their arms; glanced at the sky; shifted on their feet; watched him blankly. "Oh, come on. Who can tell me what that is?"

"That'd be a moon, Doctor." Chester replied, a sarcastic hint to his normally subdued tone. A few of the men chuckled.

"Right you are, Chester." The Doctor smiled at him before he began pacing to and fro in front of them. "But, what can you see about that moon? What about that moon is distinctly different from last night? What about that moon have we overlooked up until my _brrrilliant_ companion, Martha, pointed it out just now?"

As he rolled the 'r' in 'brilliant' and bounced on his trainers, Martha rolled her eyes, but a tiny smile twitched at the corners of her lips.

"What about that moon is going to buy us all _vital_ time? Anyone?"

"Well, it ain't full…" one of the men said like The Doctor was daft.

He pointed that person out – Manny, his name was, The Doctor remembered. "_Malto bene_, Manny! That is correct." Then he pointed to the moon again. "_That_, gents, is a new moon; a crescent moon; the start of a completely new lunar cycle."

"How's that gonna buy us time, Doctor?" Mister John asked somewhat impatiently.

The Doctor bounded up to him, gripping the air with his fingers, feeling like himself (somewhat) again, and launched into a rapidly progressing hypothesis on the matter.

"That Haemovariform couldn't control where it landed, but more importantly – it couldn't control _when_. Right at the end of a lunar cycle, a day before the sunlight travels to the other side of the moon, rendering it semi-powerless."

He searched Mister John's eyes, and he saw a spark of acuity there that pleased him. "They need the moonlight; just like you said. So that means we can kill it? Right?"

That bit about killing did not please him so much, however. Ah well, he was a human and he was scared; couldn't be helped.

"No, John – bigger picture!" He turned away and resumed his pacing. "The first half of what you said was spot on, sort of. But let's start from the beginning. Haemovariforms can be very obstinate; when they perfect a scientific method, they'll use it for years until they devise a new perfection. Many of the devices that make up the non-sentient half of their technology are designed within very linear formularies. However-!"

The group was startled by his manic expression and his abrupt outburst, but he ignored that and pushed on.

"They've evolved recently. Now, it seems the technology they're using to _breed_ is based on a complex combination of genetic microbiology and telepathic wavelength manipulation. You combine the rigidness of their mechanisms and the fluidity of their current biological makeup, toss in a few unexpected factors like a time rift, a crash landing, being forced to use human hosts _plus_ one Time Lord host who is throwing their entire telepathic bond off balance as we speak…!"

He took a breath. Stood staring at the moon, his eyes bulging and his mouth twisted as he put the pieces together, the fingers of his right hand gripping his thick brown hair.

"A Time what?"

He was taken out of his thoughts and looked away from the moon at the person who had spoken. Joe was his name. "I'm a Time Lord, didn't I mention?"

They didn't look as though anything he was saying made sense.

"Doctor?" Martha nudged. "The point?"

"Right…" he scratched the back of his head and took another deep breath. "Alright, take that moon." He pointed upward again. "Like I was saying before about circumscribed versus sentient technology – they use telepathic wavelengths, derived from a signal generator they've planted on that moon. A full moon, as you lot would see it down here on Earth, occurs when the moon is one hundred percent illuminated, yes?

"That happens each month when the sun and the moon are exactly opposite each other – when the diffuse illumination from the sunlight on the moon's surface is at its brightest. _That's_ when _their_ signal is strongest. And that's the _only_ time."

It was an odd scene: The Doctor pacing, talking a mile a minute, running his hands through his hair, gesturing excitedly, stopping, starting, jumping, eyes bugging out, face twisted with almost maniacal genius. And all the while he was surrounded by a dozen weary, small town black men who looked as if they were torn between being amused, unnerved, or angry. The Doctor quite forgot they were there. He was thinking, unraveling a stockpile of information and letting it spill through his rapidly moving lips. His frustrations were roiling out of him; channeled now through his speech and erratic movement rather than through his bloodlust or his misbehaving libido.

Still…he was aware of Martha watching him. Always aware.

"The lupine cells are transferred just like a virus – a scratch, a bite, ingestion or mixing of blood, that sort of thing. And just like a virus, they attach themselves to the host cells and replicate until they've completely taken over.

"The moonlight activates those cells; it triggers something called transmutation – turning a host into a werewolf. But that signal, eh? That signal intensifies the light and transmits a telepathic pulse that turns our werewolf into a _soldier_. Into a drone that doesn't think for itself. But it can only happen when it's a full moon, d'you see?"

They stared. He bounced on his toes.

"Ooh, come on gentlemen! A little enthusiasm, is that too much to ask? The signal gets its power from the _light_! Now, there are several dozen moons in the Arch System, and a sun twice as large as yours, burning several hundred times brighter. All that sunlight and all that moon power – they simply don't account for needing to boost their signal beyond a certain level. That's how I was able to intercept it, my telepathy interfered and scrambled it all up, making that first werewolf susceptible to my instructions…"

"So you was able to talk to it 'cause you're like me?" Sweet Mama said. The Doctor turned to regard her. He raised his eyebrows at her, gesturing that she continue. "You said 'telepathic'. You can do what I can do, and you spoke to it…"

The Doctor nodded. "Yes – my telepathy is strong enough that I resisted their bonding process."

"And strong enough to interfere with a signal transmitting thousands of kilometers away." Martha added.

"Well, yes but I was only dealing with one Haemovariform then. I'm not sure I could take on dozens…"

"So, beggin' ya pardon, Doc – what exactly _can _you do?" Mister John pressed. The Doctor spun round to face him. "You say they need the light to change into werewolves. Okay. You say now there's a new moon, they can't change no more-?"

He was interrupted by Earl. "So what we waitin' for? Let's go get that demon that killed Percy and Fletch! It got my brother! Let's kill it!"

There was a rumble of agreement through the group of men. Well, there the enthusiasm was, then.

The Doctor shook his head slowly.

"I won't let you do that…" he said firmly.

Earl pushed his way through the group and stood next to Chester. He was just a kid, but he was an angry, grieving kid. The Doctor felt for him, but he stood his ground. "Why not? Why you spend all this time tellin' us how to kill it if you gon' try to stop us?"

"I'm not telling you how to _kill_ anything." The Doctor corrected him harshly. "I'm telling you that we have one month – 28 days – to figure out how to stop the transformation that will occur, whether you like it or not, once that moon is full again.

"And trust me – it'll be much worse than what happened last night. There're more of them, now. Many more. When I was attacked, our soldier got a head start executing his mission. In 28 days…they'll be coming for _him_…" He gestured towards Chester. "They'll be coming for us all."

"That's why we gotta get it _now_, before it gets any more of us!" Earl insisted.

The Doctor looked to Mister John. Mister John sighed and put a hand on Earl's shoulders. "Calm down, Earl. Hear the Doctor out."

Earl fumed, his chest rising and falling. Chester also put a hand on him, and he went rigid with resentment before shaking them both off and stalking away towards the side of the house. He disappeared around the porch, towards the chicken coop and the field in the back.

"He'll be fine, just needs a cool off," Mister John assured The Doctor, who nodded solemnly.

"Look, I'm so sorry – but this is the best we've got. We can't harm any of the people infected, they're still very human. Just like Percy and Walter; all of you. They can't control what's happening to them any more than his brother could."

It was Mister John's turn to nod.

"So what do we do, Doctor?" Chester asked. "I'm still listenin'. We all still here. Right, brothers?" He looked around to the men, who all followed his lead and gave grunts of accord.

The Doctor took a deep breath. The metallic scent of blood filled his nostrils, stinging and making his muscles tense. He swallowed down the hunger that suddenly hammered through him and looked up at the crescent moon.

"I'll need the TARDIS."

"The what?"

"The TARDIS, it's our…transport," Martha spoke for him. He glanced down at her. A sliver of desire ping-ponged through him when he saw the pulse in her neck quicken as his eyes landed on hers. She looked away again. "We have equipment there, labs and stuff. The Doctor needs a bit of time there to do some research – figure out how to crack the signal, yeah?"

She gave him a meaningful 'help me out here' look.

He exhaled and nodded, quickly agreeing with her. "Hmm, yeah."

But then The Doctor held Martha's gaze. He could see the recognition in her eyes; there was something more to it that he wasn't telling them. And she looked as though she had a proper guess at what.

"Why don't you just destroy the signal?" Martha suggested in a soft voice, her eyes wide. "Won't that change them back?"

The Doctor shook his head. "No…brilliant thinking, but it's not that simple. If I did that, instead of being soldiers with a singular purpose and a mission to carry out, they'd just be blood-thirsty murderers on a rampage."

"So it's not just the signal, then." Martha let go of Sweet Mama's hand and walked up to him, her brow still furrowed. "We've got to cure the infection, don't we? Get rid of whatever it is that's transmitted when they attack a human host."

"I'm afraid so…" he answered, his voice low and serious.

Suddenly she looked afraid for him. He knew that she was rightly putting together that he was a part of that scenario. He needed to find a way to cure _himself_, not just the human victims. Because if he didn't…in 28 days he would turn back into the thrashing beast he'd held at bay in the train car. Back into a werewolf, just like all of them.

His thoughts were interrupted, suddenly. He could hear something…

The Doctor looked away from the group, towards the trees. He smelled it, too. People approaching. Men. About as many as were huddled together on this lawn, he guessed. They were moving slowly, but snapping twigs and disturbing foliage along the way, not being very stealthy at all.

"Doctor?"

He turned back to Martha and leaned in to whisper in her ear: "Someone's coming. They'll be crossing the creek very soon…"

"What? Who?" She looked up urgently into his eyes, and he shook his head.

"I'm not sure. But, Martha we can't let them know about…my…" he inhaled. She was too close. He saw her eyes change. He wondered what she was seeing in _his_ right now. Could she see the change in him? Was it something about being out here, under that moon, the humid night making him forget that the scent was there until it assaulted him right up close? He pushed aside these thoughts. "They're suspicious of me enough already, this'll only make it worse. Just get them inside."

"Somethin' the matter…?" Buster asked.

"Why don't we go back inside? It's hot out here and I know we could all use something cool to drink." Martha made up an excuse – well, a sort of _true_ excuse. It _was_ hot out there. The Doctor's suit felt like an oppressive second skin. And he was parched. He doubted lemonade would satisfy, however.

"Train men?" Mister John asked, looking knowingly at The Doctor.

Seemed he had pretty good hearing. Either that or The Doctor wasn't a good whisperer. Or…The Doctor regarded him, and noticed the glance he exchanged with Martha. John's liking to Martha had him following her every move like a Jardwin male during mating season, hunting his next mate.

The Doctor stepped closer to Mister John and lowered his voice so the others wouldn't hear. "I'm not sure. These train men…you think they've formed a lynching mob?"

He could hear earth being crushed under boots, breathing, heartbeats, sweaty palms sliding across gun barrels. No voices…they were silent. Only speaking when necessary. They were hunting.

"Could be," Mister John confirmed. "We got into a spot o'trouble, liftin' you outta that train car."

"I'll handle it." The Doctor assured him. "Leave it to me."

"Can't let you do that," Mister John looked reticent. "This here is my land…"

"And that wasn't your fault. You saved me, I owe you. Please, let me deal with them. Get everyone else back inside."

The tall black man considered him. "It's alright, Mister John," Martha reassured him quietly. "The Doctor can take care of himself. Come inside."

After a moment, Mister John agreed. He gestured for his boarders to return to the house. "I _could_ use a drink, come to think of it. Come on, y'all."

Everyone began to move back inside. The Doctor had a thought about seeking out Earl, but it looked like Buster and Chester were already on their way. The Doctor turned and waited for Martha on one of the steps of the porch.

She walked up to him, watching her shoes, and passed him with her eyes rising to meet Mister John's, who was also waiting for her. He reached out a hand to her and she took it. The Doctor watched them go inside, Mister John guiding her by the small of her back.

He honestly did like John…but, ohhh he hated that. That innocent touch gave him a pinch of jealousy that surprised and aggravated him.

He stood still more, staring at the doorway where everyone else had gone inside. His frown was firmly set and his eyes were narrow…he didn't think it would be good to go back in there. The memory of how thick and potent the blood smelled in that hot little room made him feel like swooning. Plus…well, he knew he'd be affected by the sight of Mister John getting closer to Martha. Yet another complication.

"You still in pain…" He smelled her before he turned to discover her. Sweet Mama had lingered behind, and was now approaching him up the porch steps. She stopped just below him and reached out to squeeze his hand through the fabric of his trouser pocket. "I can sense it. But it's more than just whatever's got a hold on you…it's deep…it's everywhere at once…never felt nothin' like it…"

He stared at her, his expression still sour. She was just _full_ of the clairsentient force tonight, wasn't she? She may as well have a crystal ball and tarot cards, this one. She changed subjects, still touching him.

"You don't wanna hurt that girl, Doctor. Maybe you should try to see things through her eyes?"

The Doctor thought bitterly, and perhaps a bit harshly (she was only acting out of concern for him), that she couldn't possibly wrap her mind around what she _thought_ she could see in him. It was just more endlessly complicated than she knew. How could she possibly know? Even _he_ didn't want to know, wished he didn't have to remember; sometimes envied poor daft John Smith's obliviousness.

He could feel her trying to read him, like a soft, elderly caress; like the hugging of minds. And he suspected she knew more than he liked her to, which further annoyed him. He didn't want to be angry with Sweet Mama. He did not want to hurt her feelings, but he also did not want her to think she understood him in any way. Knowing him, _really knowing him_, was something only reserved for the rarest of person.

_And yet you keep telling Martha that she knows you so well_, the thought slithered into his mind before he could catch himself. _But you're a liar…you're a liar…just as you hide the truth from yourself, you're hiding it from her…you don't deserve her. She's willing to die for you and yet she doesn't even know your name._

The Doctor looked off at the trees again.

"You'd better go inside, Sweet Mama. I'll stay out here. I need…a bit of air."

She didn't argue. He was grateful when she moved on.

He stared at the trees, listening as the men approached. He concentrated, and suddenly he could see the net of forest as clearly as if it was daylight. He saw them moving around in there, way across the creek. They were splitting up. Two heading here, the other near-dozen moving on. He could see something glinting in the torchlight as they begin to wade through the creek water. A badge.

It read Deputy Hugh Morris.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The whiskey came out. Someone put on a pot of coffee. Sweet Mama came inside and began to whip up a batch of lemonade.

Then men started talking, trying to make sense of what The Doctor was telling them. Trying to make sense of _him_, period. Charles grumbled. He still didn't trust The Doctor but since he had no answers himself, he seemed reluctantly resigned to following Mister John's lead. Louis Blue and Manny started a game of Gin and they all gathered in the den, lighting cigarettes and exchanging comments on the horror from the night before.

"We musta' pumped a hundred bullets in that som'bitch!" Louis regaled them for what seemed like the hundredth time since the event actually occurred. "Bit it just kept comin'; like a freight train!"

"Buster say it's eyes was glowin'," Manny spoke around his smoke. "Say it snatched Lenny clean up in the air ten feet. Gimme a chill, all right. Glad I wasn't fool enough to go out in them woods…"

"Damn…feel bad for them Wilkes boys…"

"I don't know 'bout all this space talk. Feel like I's back in the schoolhouse with that mean ass Mrs. Upton. But if this doctor wanna go get 'imself ate up by that thing, don't look like we can stop him. Let him go on, then. When the time comes – I got my pistol…"

"Pistols don't work, fool, didn't you hear what Blue said?"

"Well how the hell we gon' stop somethin' that's parked all the way up on the damn moon, Joe? You got a ladder in ya uncle's shed that can reach all the way up there?"

"Fuuuck you, Negro. Put a card down."

"What ya'll think o'that fine sista he with? Think she'll give ole Manny some sugar?"

"Shiiit, you old enough to be that gal's granddaddy. Now quit stallin' and play somethin'."

"You just jealous, sucka. Ooh-wee…that gal is fine. Martha, Martha-May…got them child-bearin' hips…"

And the hum of conversation went on like that. Martha didn't pay much attention. They were men, after all. Her mind was elsewhere. She couldn't help herself – she was watching The Doctor. He stood in the middle of the yard, his back to her, his eyes on the trees. His hands in his pockets. The reality of the situation settled on her heavily. He was a werewolf. If he wasn't cured before the month was up, he would turn into a monster.

She wondered if he was listening…

Sweet Mama handed her a glass of lemonade just as Chester returned with Buster and Earl through the back door in the kitchen. She wanted to say something to Earl, but he just stalked off towards the foyer and disappeared up the stairs to his room. Buster sighed and rubbed his balding head with his handkerchief to wipe away the perspiration.

"That boy's as stubborn as a mule. And you think Charles is bad, Mister John? I almost had to hem him up some to get his ass inside this house."

"Watch ya mouth, Buster – I still got one good hand."

Buster rolled his eyes and accepted Charles' flask, taking a swig.

"Will he be alright?" Martha inquired.

Buster regarded her for a moment. "He just in a bad way, that's all. He looked up to Lenny, they was close."

"Of course. I'm really sorry for your loss, Buster." Martha nodded sympathetically. She could only imagine. If anything ever happened to Tish or Leo…

"Much obliged, Miss Martha."

Chester took out his guitar. He began strumming a tune with it, humming quietly. The men tapped their feet as they sat around. Sweet Mama passed out some leftover chicken. They were all such a little family. Albeit a whiskey-drinking, card-playing, gun-toting family.

Martha stole another glance at The Doctor. He seemed to be turning away from the window just as she was turning towards it. Had he been watching her too? Listening? Did it matter?

Martha had promised herself that she wouldn't let her feelings for him interfere with what they had to do here. That she would watch out for him, and help him as much as she could. But how could she avoid the way she felt – it drove her actions in so many ways. Could she really have confronted him on the edge of that road so fearlessly if she _weren't_ falling in love with him?

It was _so_ the double-edged sword.

Her love for The Doctor kept her fighting; kept her going when faced with situations that seemed insurmountable. Her love for him kept her from giving up when she thought she would die, many times. Kept her moving as they faced _so much_ together. Her love for him kept her strong enough to endure 1913; kept her alive when she'd been shot by a Clade weapon; kept her from leaving his side even when he told her to save herself. Martha's love for him was growing every day, and it was changing her.

But this feeling…this feeling also kept her vulnerable to him. It made it that much easier for him to hurt her, even though he didn't do it intentionally. That much easier for his grief over a girl she'd never met to make her feel like she was invisible. Her love for him sometimes blinded her – and she forgot that _of course_ there were side effects to turning into a werewolf, all of which she couldn't possibly account for.

_Of course_ it wasn't his fault that he was feeling something he had no control over.

And, of course, she felt like such a fool for being surprised by the fact that he had kissed her and immediately squashed any possibility that he'd done so because _he wanted to_.

Martha was staring hard at the back of The Doctor's head. She turned away from the window, chiding herself. She really had to get a grip. She had to find a way to reconcile those two roles: the Martha that was in love with The Doctor, and the Martha that had a responsibility to him as his friend and companion. Sometimes she thought the two could coexist, but sometimes they just couldn't.

The Martha in love wanted nothing more than for The Doctor to kiss her again…make love to her…for his wounds over Rose to heal in her arms.

The Martha with the responsibility knew that wouldn't happen.

"Beggin' your pardon, Martha…" Mister John's voice interrupted her thoughts.

She looked up at him and smiled softly. John returned her smile and leaned against the windowsill next to her. He looked quite casual in this pose – a change from his usual stance of authority. His demeanor around her seemed to have softened a bit between their trek through the woods to retrieve The Doctor and now. She found she liked him a lot. He was still a bit intimidating, but then so was The Doctor sometimes.

"I was just wonderin'…what kinda name is 'The Doctor', anyhow?"

Martha chuckled. Mister John seemed pleased to make her smile. "Well what kind of name is Mister John?"

"Just what they call me round these parts."

"Well there you are – we've got Mister John, Sweet Mama, and The Doctor. We're a lovely bunch, aren't we?"

"I reckon so."

Martha shrugged. "It's same with him, really. The Doctor is just…The Doctor. That's just the way it is. Well, sometimes he goes by John Smith, but…" and she thought about John Smith. His head in the clouds. His sputtering, admittedly adorable nervousness around Nurse Redfern. How afraid and distraught he was to face his own death so that The Doctor could return…

When she didn't finish her sentence, so lost was she remembering poor John Smith, Mister John spoke again, this time more seriously.

"He say he's a Time Lord." She focused on him again, Responsible Martha taking over. "What is that?"

"It's…his…species." She wished The Doctor hadn't brought that up. She hated explaining it to people. He'd do a much better job. Mainly because he didn't really have to – most of the places they went outside of Earth had heard of The Doctor, and Time Lords. All he had to do was mention it, and he had their attention.

"His species…" Mister John's eyes glinted. "You mean he's like The Clades, and The Huma-veriform. You mean he ain't from here."

"No, he isn't." Martha held her breath, waiting for his reaction to this news.

He nodded, solemnly. "I can't say that surprises me much. Like I said – I done seen too much strangeness in the last 48 hours." She let her breath go with relief. "I won't tell the others about him. They don't need to know."

"Thank you…"

"But you gotta let him know – he can't be pullin' stunts like he did with Charles. They already spooked enough, I'd say."

She nodded quickly. "You're right."

He regarded her again, silently. She felt his gaze was admiring, but then he spoke and she put the thought aside. "Can he help us?"

"Yes," she answered without hesitation.

Mister John nodded. "I can't lose any more of my friends."

"The Doctor won't let that happen."

"I trust him…because _you_ trust him."

Somehow she knew that. But she didn't know how she felt about it. He stood watching her for a moment…and the look in his eyes…Martha recognized it instantly. And, as she put two and two together, she also found herself wishing with all her heart that The Doctor would look at her that way. Just once. When he wasn't influenced by werewolf instincts or possessed by anything.

"Sweet lil' gal…" Chester The Howlin' Wolf sang soulfully, strumming his guitar. "Come on save me with your sweet, sweet ways…"

Martha and Mister John watched each other, not speaking. Just listening.

"Sweet lil' gal…" sang Howlin' Wolf, his voice scratchy and deep and mesmerizing. "Come on brighten up these dark, dark days…"

Mister John reached over and took Martha's hand. She felt a knot develop in her throat. She didn't know what to do. She liked him – he was a brave, caring, intelligent, and good man. She opened her mouth, about to say something to that effect. About to follow it up with an apology and an explanation that it probably wasn't a good idea. He shook his head swiftly before she could speak, his eyes communicating something to her.

"Sweet lil' gal…come on cure me of my bad, bad ways…ooh mama don't ya hear me callin'?"

He turned his face slightly towards the window, his eyes not leaving hers. Martha knew he was acknowledging The Doctor. In her peripheral vision, she could see The Doctor standing in the yard, stone still. Waiting for the arrival of whomever it was making their way through the woods towards them now. And she wondered again, was he listening?

Mister John squeezed her hand. He told her, with that gesture, that he knew how she felt about The Doctor. He told her that it was okay with him.

Then he said: "Miss Martha, care to humor an old man with a dance?"

Martha smiled. "If you're old, I'm infirm."

Mister John unabashedly let his eyes roam over her body. "Ain't _nothin'_ infirm about you…"

She blushed furiously and allowed him to take her by the hand, leading her to the foyer. There was little room for dancing in the crowded den, where the cigarette smoke and whiskey/coffee smell was growing thicker. But out here, they could feel the slight breeze coming through the screen door and still clearly hear Howlin' Wolf's guitar strumming and his deep, crooning voice.

"Got me a sweet lil' gal…" he moaned, "oh she all that's on my mind…"

Mister John brought Martha close to him. She reached up to place her hands on his broad shoulders. She could smell his sweat, and his aftershave, and a hint of the trees in those woods. It wasn't an unpleasant smell. It was somehow very comforting – homey. He was a sturdy man. A man who worked with his hands, and earth, and sweat under the sun and built things. He was the kind of man who would take care of his woman. Martha felt that despite how Chester's mother took him away from John, he must've been trying to do right by them. She just couldn't picture him being a neglectful husband and father. Or perhaps it was that having Chester gone sobered him; made him more reflective; repentant. Perhaps the Mister John she was getting to know now was vastly different from his younger self.

It made her think of The Doctor. How living so long, and losing so much, shaped who he became. The Doctor she knew today – how different was he to The Doctor who still had a family? The Doctor who still had a home? Who was The Doctor Rose knew? Was he the same? Or did Rose give The Doctor more reasons to smile; relax him more; bring out sides to him that Martha might never get to see? Had he still lapsed into periods of somber silence with Rose? Had he still gotten angry unexpectedly and snapped at Rose? Had he changed the subject on Rose abruptly whenever she asked him questions he didn't want to answer; whenever she tried to get a little closer? Or had Rose somehow figured out how to reach him – how to _truly_ reach him? Was that why he missed her so? Was that why nothing Martha seemed to say or do could penetrate the veritable fortress he built around himself? And every time she thought she got closer…every time she thought she'd done enough…it was like having to go back to the start of the maze and go through the whole thing again, for all he seemed to notice.

Even when he was praising her, thanking her, telling her how she 'knew him so well'…Martha wondered.

She just wondered…

They danced slowly, and Martha relaxed as Mister John turned her around in the foyer, resting his chin gently in her hair.

"Oooh, that sweet lil gal…" they were serenaded, "yeah she turned this old fool around! Took my sorrow, took my pain, loved me up, wore me out! I dare anybody….in this wide world…take that gal from me…that sweet lil', sweet lil gal…oooh…!"

Martha had closed her eyes as she and Mister John danced. When she opened them, she caught site of something through the open door. Two men were crossing the road. Both of them white. Both of them carrying guns. One of them was Deputy Morris.


	17. Chapter 17

Bit of a warning - somewhat offensive language.

* * *

**XVII.**

There was a tall man in a snug brown suit and light canvas shoes standing in the G.Y.S.T. House yard.

He simply watched them coming, his hands in his pockets. Ed was in a bad mood, having had to wade across the creek. He kept grumbling that if they were gonna make a pit stop, he should've been forewarned. They could've taken the Lincoln (their only police car; besides which, Morris preferred his horse) across the bridge.

Morris ignored him, keeping his gaze on this fella in the suit. He had a feeling – this was the man he realized he'd been anxious to meet all day. There were lights on in the house, behind him. He could see Sweet Mama through the kitchen window, moving around. Probably cooking, as usual.

In the doorway, he could make out two figures. One of them was Martha Jones; couldn't mistake her figure, even though he'd only observed it once. And Mister John Grey was with her. Looked like they were embracing. He heard a voice – singing, howling-like. And somber guitar music.

The man – Martha's Jones' doctor he was sure – had an expression on that made his face resemble stone.

His eyes were deep, and dark. But as they approached, they glinted under the faint light, giving Morris pause.

"Who's this?" Ed grunted as they sauntered up to the gate.

"I'm The Doctor." The man said. Morris and Ed exchanged looks, both wondering how he heard.

Morris gestured for Ed to fall back a little and closed the distance. "You're The Doctor, huh?"

The man lowered his chin. "And you must be Deputy Morris."

"That's right."

"May I ask, have you found anything?"

Deputy Morris paused. Behind him, Ed grew impatient, not understanding what in blue hell they were doing here on the Negro side of the creek making nice with a funny-talking stranger. Morris looked into the man's eyes, and they had an understanding. He'd be hard pressed to explain it properly to anyone; he couldn't quite grasp it himself. All he knew was that his instincts were kicking in, and this man…this doctor…well, Morris felt like he was the right person to be talking to.

"Not yet," he confirmed, holstering his gun. "Mind tellin' me what we're lookin' for? Your gal there said you went after it. Said you knew what it was…do you?"

"Well, you won't find it now," The Doctor said, rather than answering those questions. Just like that, his tone had become casual and offhand. His demeanor was loose. His face became fluid, and he ran a hand through his strangely cut brown hair. "I imagine it won't be seen or heard from for…ohhh…about a month." He squinted and lobbed his head from side to side. "28 days, to be more precise."

"Say that again?" Ed was on his side, suddenly, agitated. Morris mentally swore and held up an authoritative hand, pulling rank.

"Yeah, 28 days…alright, I _am_ guessing, but…" The Doctor shrugged, completely unintimidated, and finished in an ironical whisper: "I usually guess right."

Ed turned to Morris, demanding explanation with his eyes.

"Alright, Doctor," Morris sighed. "You need to do some explainin'. Startin' with why it seems that the second you and your gal in there show up, people start dyin' and gettin' attacked by some wild animal loose out there in them woods. And, for that matter, why you seem to know so much about it."

The Doctor lifted his chin appraisingly, seemingly mulling over his demands. He grinned abruptly. "Well, that seems fair enough! I mean, I _hate_ starting from scratch, but if you insist…"

The screen door creaked and Martha Jones came through it, followed by Mister John. The commotion in the house seemed to have died down. Morris felt eyes on him, and knew probably that the whole house was watching them. Ed shifted on his feet, his mistrust and hostility palpable.

"What're y'all gawkin' at?" he called before Morris could stop him. He waved his pistol. "This is Sherriff's business, get yer black asses back inside."

"Ed…" Morris warned.

But The Doctor took over, his face stone again. "That wasn't very polite, was it?"

Ed glared at him. "I don't recall askin' your opinion, doctor." He stepped up to the lanky man, eyeballing him up and down. Morris sighed. So much for Ed being the more even-tempered. "In fact, you got yet to say one word to convince me I shouldn't cuff yer skinny ass right now. So unless you want a night in a cell til you learn to hold that smart tongue o'yours, I suggest you keep yer thoughts to yerself."

The Doctor regarded Ed coolly for a second, then puffed out his cheeks, raising his eyebrows as if contemplating whether or not to comply. "Weellll, I _could_ do that, yeah…"

His eyes hardened.

"And you could go back to your little jailhouse and wait out the next month, and when all hell breaks loose I _could_ be long gone. I could leave you here, all of you, to your fate. I could walk away from this, right now, and let you fumble around with it until you've cocked it up so badly, everything you know is erased – replaced by death, and war, and terror…until you end up cowering somewhere in the dark with your useless guns, crying for it all to end…"

Deputy Morris and Ed stood there, plum struck mute by the things he was saying. Well it wasn't just what he said…it was the _way_ he uttered these words. Chills ran up Morris' spine – it took a hell of a lot to do that to him, but this man managed it with something fiery and carnal in his dark eyes. His expression held boundless wisdom, sheer mercilessness, and (he couldn't do anything but admit it to himself) molten anger that was a tad unnerving to behold. Never saw a thing like it in his life.

Ed, for his part, had nothing to respond with.

"That's when they'll enjoy it most, you know…when you're so weak and sniveling that any traces of the arrogant sod you are now are completely erased. When you're begging them for mercy…" he raised his chin and an eyebrow imperiously, "they won't give you that, of course. Oh no. They'll either devour you while you're still alive and screaming…or they'll use you to shed more blood and cause more chaos. I could let that happen. And with your attitude, _I am sorely tempted_."

His eyes glinted again. A strange silver color bloomed in them for only a second. Then Martha was there, standing next to him. "Doctor…" She had been approaching, Mister John on her heels, as The Doctor spoke. Now she placed a staying hand on his arm.

He frowned, air flowing through his nostrils, and his fiery ire seemed to diminish. Then he raised his eyebrows again and rocked on the soles of his canvas shoes. "Now! Who's for a cup of Sweet Mama's delicious lemonade?"

"…who are you…?" Morris asked, struck by this man's ping-ponging moods and the underlying magnitude of his very presence.

The man replied unceremoniously: "I told you, I'm The Doctor. Come inside, we'll have a chat." Then he turned to Mister John. "Begging your permission, of course, Mister John?"

Mister John eyed Ed warily, but replied quietly: "I'll tell Sweet Mama to fetch us some."

"Thank you," The Doctor said gratefully. "We won't be long, I promise."

Mister John nodded and began to back up towards the house. The Doctor had Martha's arm linked in his, his hands in his pockets. He jerked his head at Morris.

"Come on, then," he chirped, and began leading Martha up the yard as if that was the end of that. "Not Ed, I think he'd prefer the fresh air."

Ed had a better idea. "Now you wait just a _goddamned_ minute! You just threatened me, mister. Gimme one good reason why I shouldn't haul your ass down to the station!" He pulled his gun.

"Ed, relax!" Morris snapped, standing between Ed and The Doctor, who was now standing with Martha and Mister John flanking him.

"Ohhh, is that _really_ necessary…?" the lanky man groaned impatiently.

"Hey, there's no need to draw a gun on us!" Martha objected heatedly.

"You shut your mouth, gal, nobody's talkin' to you."

"_Don't_ speak to her that way." The Doctor snapped, taking a step forward. "You have a problem with me, fine. But you _leave her out of this_."

That fiery anger was back. Boy, but if this fella didn't switch faces quick!

Ed ignored him and gave Morris a glare, talking to him in an angry, hushed growl. "You gon' let this slick talk fool you, Hugh? Look where we are! You just left this house with a truckload of weapons last night, remember? None of these n****s can be trusted! They're all a bunch a lyin'', cheatin' degenerates! GYST House my ass! More like _whore_ house!" he spat in Martha's direction.

"_Oi…!_ You little-!" Martha started, but Mister John wisely placed a hand on her shoulder, silencing her in the face of Ed's pistol.

Ed jabbed the weapon accusingly at The Doctor and Martha, speaking up now.

"You even said it yerself – the moment they showed up, our people started getting' attacked. Maybe them two n*****s got themselves killed in the woods smugglin' that thing into town, ever think of that? And maybe _he_ helped them!" He jerked his head at Mister John.

Morris saw behind Martha that Mister John's jaw was clenched fit to crack his teeth, and his chest was heaving with anger. "We did no such thing, Deputy, and you know it!"

"Hold up, John…" Morris said in warning, and thought quickly about how to diffuse this situation.

He had a tired, frustrated, reckless young officer, a strange pair of outsiders who didn't seem to take much heed to the way things were in this town letting all kinds of things fly out of their mouths, and a heated John Grey. Morris had seen John Grey upset. Had seen him, his sheer size and power, go to work on a fella at the juke joint for trying to rape his woman Lucille. He almost killed the guy, with his bare hands.

Sherriff had his hide in the jailhouse for a good 30 days, nearly starving him, taking the club to him sometimes. John didn't buckle. They let him go eventually – the Sherriff really didn't give a damn about the drunk Negro John beat half to death, or the attempted rape. John walked out of the jailhouse dehydrated, starving, and beat on – but his head was high. Morris had felt ashamed of himself for abiding the cruelties he witnessed almost on a daily basis – but that one nearly made him quit the force altogether.

Now he didn't want to see anything like that happen tonight. He knew Ed and Homer subscribed to the Sheriff's cruelty, and he knew that they only listened to what he himself told them because he outranked them, plain and simple.

"Ed, lower your weapon. Now."

Ed clenched his jaw, his hand tightening around the gun handle in frustration. "I'm takin' them in."

"Well, you're right – they should be taken in for questionin', but _nobody's_ under arrest yet so lower your damned pistol!"

After a moment of reluctance, Ed lowered his gun, cursing under his breath.

"Doctor?" The Doctor tore his contemptuous gaze away from Ed to acknowledge him. "You understand, I gotta take you down to the station. There's too much about this situation that don't make sense, I believe you're the man to set it straight." He sighed, took off his hat, and wiped his brow before replacing it. "Besides, we got ourselves about thirty people down the hospital that I think you should see."

The Doctor nodded. "Of course, yeah."

Finally, Morris turned to John. "Need your horse, so Ed can fetch the car."

"What?" Ed snapped his head up at Morris again. "You're not just gonna shoo me away while you stay here and have a goddamned tea party with these-!"

"Ed, you'll do what I tell you and _you'll do it with bells on_, you got that!" Morris bellowed, his patience worn thin. "Get your ass on that horse, get the car, and get back here!"

"If the Sherriff were here…" Ed muttered through gritted teeth.

Morris took two heavy steps up to Ed and got right in his face. "What's that, son?"

"You heard me, Hugh." Ed hissed. "You got a soft spot for these n*****s, everybody knows it. Sherriff knew it, and why he let you carry on holdin' their hands and lettin' 'em walk all over you is beyond any of us. If he were here-"

"Well, he _ain't_ here, is he Ed? So that means technically, _I'm_ the Sherriff until the Mayor and God says otherwise. Now, I'm ordering you to tear hide and get back to West Point for that Lincoln before I suspend you into the middle of next year!"

Ed glared at Morris, his greenish-blue eyes shining with contempt. But after a few seconds, he bit back his retort and nodded gruffly. John disappeared to bring out his horse. He didn't look happy about it. Morris couldn't blame him.

They all stood in the yard in heavy, unfriendly silence. When John returned with the horse, Ed snatched the leads and stalked away down to the road, leading the poor animal rather harshly. They all watched him mount the horse. He flashed Morris one more mutinous look before he dug his heels in, startling the animal (and probably causing her pain) and riding off.

"Beady-eyed little _tosser_…" Martha growled as they watched him retreat, apparently not caring that Morris was still there.

The Doctor took a deep, slow breath. "Was it something I said?"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha watched as Deputy Hugh Morris' eyes followed John's horse until it disappeared around the bend in the road, into the darkness.

Then he turned around, and he gave Mister John a look. Now…this man was certainly a bit surly, and she knew perfectly well that she didn't know anything about him that could prove her right…but all the same. The look in his dark blue eyes just then as he regarded Mister John seemed to be…respectful. Rueful, even.

"You don't hafta worry about Ed. I'll get your horse back to ya as soon as I can."

Mister John nodded slightly, but didn't speak.

Then Morris turned to her and The Doctor. "Like I said, you ain't under arrest…not yet. But you gotta understand, my town is spooked. Ed's brother got attacked, and he wouldn't admit it, but he's a ragin' mess right now, so-"

"Then someone should tell him acting like a thoughtless thug and waving a dangerous weapon around won't help his brother at all." The Doctor said harshly. "Especially not when he points a gun at my friends."

Morris scoffed. "You know the way I see it, I don't have to explain myself to you – any of you. I'm the law in this town, and so is Ed. I didn't have to stop him. I just stuck my neck for ya, Lord knows why!"

He turned around in a circle, looking for all the world to Martha like a man who was doing things he didn't understand at all, and he was nervous and he was frustrated, but he was doing them. It was because of The Doctor. It was the effect he had on people. They followed him. They trusted him. Even when they didn't understand why.

"Because you're a good man, Hugh Morris…" The Doctor said appraisingly, a slightly approving smile dancing across his lips. "Because unlike your friend Ed, you know there's something entirely unnatural occurring here, don't you?"

Deputy Morris swallowed, looking a lot younger and a lot less surly than before. He stared at The Doctor, and then his eyes slipped over to Martha. He looked like he wanted to say something to her, and she stood frowning at him, ready to hear it. But he decided against it and lowered his head to his boots, shuffling on his feet. He sighed. "I know there's been a lot of…strange things…happening lately. I got a feelin'…somethin' ain't right."

He looked over at the line of trees across the road.

"I found Walter Fletcher's body in them woods…"

"You did?" Martha spoke up at once.

"You found Fletch?" Mister John and Martha exchanged looks. Morris nodded, still gazing at the trees, his rifle hanging loose in his left hand, pointed at the ground. "You took 'im to the ice box…"

"Yeah, he's there. I ain't never seen a man so…destroyed…in all my years of policin' this county." Martha saw a far off look on his face. He turned abruptly back to them. "I need answers, Doc. You say you got 'em, let's hear 'em."

"Come on then," The Doctor turned on one foot, his hands disappearing in his pockets, to head up the porch steps. "Inside…all of you."

Martha sighed, swallowing down the small fit of adrenaline that had seized her when Ed was raging like a racist lunatic. She had endured some rudeness and disrespect (and even some ridicule, from the young boys) in Farringham in 1913, and somewhat in Redwater in 1880. But Ed's testosterone-filled, bluntly hostile insults made Martha's heart race and her sense of self dignity ignite like a fuse. She was sure she would've said a great deal more than she did if Mister John hadn't warned her to bite her tongue.

Blimey, and if she _had_ flown off at the mouth, what would that awful man have done? Shot her? Hit her? Dragged her away to the woods to hang her up by a tree? The sheer reality of it hit her hard. The Doctor wouldn't let any of those things happen, of course – and neither would Mister John. But, still…the hostility in beady-eyed Ed was immensely palpable, coming off him in waves. She was affected by it, rather unpleasantly, even if she knew The Doctor and Mister John would've protected her from it.

The Doctor was glaring at her as he waited with the screen door open for them all to pass him. Martha was the last in, and as she passed him, he grabbed her by the arm and pulled her aside. Martha gasped. His grip was tight; though it didn't hurt, it was certainly alarming. She looked up into his eyes and saw…well…he was angry, she could plainly see _that_. But also, he looked…

Like a man who had nearly lost something dear to him.

"Martha, you have _got_ to be more careful…!" he hissed, getting close to her and making sure that she couldn't look away from him. He was too close, she thought in the back of her mind, even as her chest heaved with her quickening breaths. If he got too close, and caught her scent while he was this agitated, would he…hurt her? Like he said he could down by the edge of the forest?

"What're you talking ab-?"

"You can't go round telling off whomever you like, this isn't London in 2007!" He snapped, giving her arm an urgent squeeze. "This is 1940s Mississippi, and men like Ed-!"

"I _know_ what year it is, thank you very much." She cut him off, righteous anger filling her. He had pressed her into the stiff wooden wall of the house, his eyes ablaze. The crickets hummed around them eerily.

When she hardly knew him, the look in his eyes might've frightened her. But she stood up to him now, as tall as she could, still feeling a tiny bit of the hurt from his excuse-filled rejection of her earlier.

"And I'm not thick, alright? I can take care of myself. There was no way I was gonna stand there and let that racist wanker call me a whore and the…the 'N' word."

"_Martha_…" he growled imploringly, gritting his teeth and squeezing his eyes shut. "Now is not a good time to be stubborn."

"Well, tough!" Martha tried not to raise her voice. She suddenly felt like calling him a great, big, pushy, arrogant, lanky Time Lord baby. "Why do _you_ get to say anything you please and I can't? It was _your_ fault he acted that way, getting him all riled up and then just standing there while he pointed a gun at me! You think you're so bloody untouchable, while I have to keep my mouth shut and come when you summon me and 'go here, Martha, do this, fetch that, look after this-!'"

She admitted to herself later that she might've gone a tad overboard with the ranting, but the last 48 hours (indeed, the last _four months_ – 1913 definitely included) sort of got the better of her and her words spilled out all on their own.

So, if he _hadn't_ leaned forward abruptly and captured her lips with his passionately, she didn't think she'd have stopped until she poked him a few good times in the shoulder and called him a bunch of really nasty names.

As it happened, he did, and it shut her right up, proper.

The Doctor pressed himself into Martha as he kissed her, inhaling deeply and exhaling again in a hot rush through his nostrils. His arm snaked around her petit frame, pulling her still closer. Martha tried to speak, but when she opened her mouth his tongue dived inside and her words died in her throat.

The sensation of The Doctor pressed against her, his mouth on hers, their tongue dancing around with each other (as he seemed to try to taste every inch of her mouth) made Martha feel hot and tingly all over. Before she could stop herself, she reached up and grabbed hold of his collar. The world dropped away…there was silence except for their breathing and the accompanying chorus of cricket song.

Then suddenly he pulled away, taking big drags of air, his eyes bright with some kind of electric excitement – and glowing silver. He looked as if he wanted to say he was sorry again, but he didn't. Martha swallowed, settling back to reality. "Was that the…werewolf instinct, again?"

She wanted to wince when her voice came out breathless and small; he had kissed away her anger, damn him.

When he spoke, The Doctor said something she truly had not expected to hear. His eyes had faded back to his normal brown by then, but they were still keenly shining at her. "I…don't know…" he said quietly, chewing on his lip.

They looked at each other. Martha didn't know what to say. He looked as if he was torn, like he wanted to tell her something more. But then he ran a hand through his hair and his eyes left hers.

"We'd better go inside before Deputy Morris sends out another search party…"

He opened the screen door for her and Martha managed to peel herself off the wall to walk inside. They didn't look at each other as she passed.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor bounded into the kitchen, where Deputy Morris and Mister John were standing awkwardly in silence. John stood near the icebox. Morris stood in the middle of the humid little room with an untouched glass of lemonade, near the table, waiting.

Sweet Mama was in the cupboard, and as The Doctor and Martha entered he seemed to head straight for her. She wasn't startled – she had a fresh jar of marmalade in her hands. The three others watched as he gratefully accepted it from her and turned on his foot to reach the silverware drawer and retrieve a spoon.

Martha heard music wafting in from the den. Howlin' Wolf was strumming, and humming again. Feet were tapping, hands clapping, some voices humming along or grunting with appreciation. It seemed they were content to leave Mister John and The Doctor to handle Deputy Morris. She knew they'd been listening, and suspected there would be a ruckus later on, but for now they seemed to want to return to what was familiar, what wasn't upsetting, what was sturdy and true: blues, cigarettes, whiskey, and cards.

It made her lips curve into a tiny smile.

The Doctor scooped out some marmalade, swallowed it down, and said with the spoon still in his mouth: "So tell me about these patients, Deputy?"

"I thought_ I_ was supposed to be askin' the questions, here, Doc…"

"Right, of course." The Doctor took the marmalade and crossed to the table. He pulled out a chair, flipped it round, and sat down straddling it, the back of the chair pressed to his chest. He scooped out more marmalade and licked it absentmindedly, making a propeller motion with his hand. "Fire away."

Morris sauntered over to the table and sat opposite him, placing his lemonade down.

Half an hour minutes later, with help from Martha, Mister John, and even Sweet Mama, Deputy Morris had more or less been brought up to speed. He sat and listened, mostly. His questions were few, but always the right ones. Martha could tell that The Doctor was getting to like the Deputy – he didn't seem as dull witted and bigoted as his mate Ed.

And besides, anyone who could get The Doctor to sit still for longer than a minute or two earned a few cool points. The last time she'd managed that, Martha mused, was on New New York when he first told her about the Time War and how he lost his home and all his people.

"Who _are_ you…?" Deputy Morris asked now, for the second time. He looked mystified, yet somewhat shrewd.

The Doctor put the spoon down on the table, then the jar of marmalade, and met his gaze. "I'm a traveler. That's all. I'm here to help."

The answer didn't seem to satisfy the Deputy, but he didn't push the issue. Martha heard a horn. It sounded like a bazooka horn, like the one heard in old cartoons. That noise that always accompanied the moment where the coyote's eyes bugged out really big and his tongue flopped down to his shoes when he saw a really bodacious beauty.

"That'll be Ed." Deputy Morris said.

The Doctor did a funny face when the horn sounded again. He grinned at Morris, who was puzzled by his expression, and then asked hopefully: "Is that…a Lincoln Model K?"

"Yeah…" Morris supplied.

"Nooo…! Really?" The Doctor jumped up and disappeared into the foyer. "A _Lincoln Model K_! Martha, come look! This is _brilliant_!" He called excitedly, and Deputy Morris got to his feet, frowning at Martha.

"Is he always like this? Can't tell whether I'm comin' or goin' with him…"

Martha smirked wearily. "Join the club, mate."

The Doctor bounded outside, where sure enough, there was a proper old-timey looking car parked out front by the gate. There was a county police decal painted on its door. It had a white convertible top, a black body, and was shaped like a squatter version of the little car figure in Monopoly games.

"I've always wanted to ride in one of these! Never got the chance, funnily enough."

Martha was glad The Doctor was so chuffed. His intensity and moodiness over the last couple of hours had worn her out. Not to mention the vivid memories – the still lingering sensations – of his predatory advances on her. She still didn't know what she intended to do about them, if indeed there was anything for her to do. So much had gone on in so little time, her mind was everywhere at once. She envied him his vast, complicated Time Lord mind. He seemed to be able to think about several things at once, switching and swaying between them sometimes almost effortlessly. Now, he was showing off to her – as if they were on tour through a history museum. She wondered where exactly their passionate kiss on the porch was fitting in that mind of his at the moment. If, as usually happened with him, he'd forgotten about it already. Just as he'd forgotten that she confessed her love for him to John Smith.

He never forgot Rose, though, did he? _Stop it, Martha…_

Ed climbed out of the police car, his gun in his hand. The Doctor ignored him, walking around to open the door and stick his head in, kicking at the tires, running his hands along the exterior, bouncing his palms lightly against the engine compartment. He had that 'kid in a shop' expression again as he inspected the thing, muttering to himself. "Ohh, an early model…round 1931 or '32…seven passenger touring…ohhh she's a beauty! Oldest existing police car in your time, Martha," he explained airily. "There were still around fifteen in existence, then I think. I told you, legendary!"

Mister John raised and eyebrow at her, as if to ask _your time?_

Thankfully, Ed spoke up, after spitting harshly to the ground. "Get in."

The Doctor stopped his inspecting and stood upright. "Ask nicely."

Ed moved as if to challenge him, but Morris called him out. "Ed…I got this covered. Homer and the fellas'll be a half mile north by now. I suggest you catch up. Tell 'em to fall back. We ain't gon' find anything out there tonight."

"Oh, you're taking _his_ word for it?" Ed demanded.

As Mister John often did his nodding thing, Deputy Morris did his sighing thing now. "You know, this insubordination of yours is startin' to wear a little thin."

Martha glared at Ed, her contempt for this man she barely knew mounting within her as he eyed Deputy Morris mutinously. He didn't say anything, however. He simply turned and stalked away into the trees. The Doctor watched him go, his expression hard, yet thoughtful.

"I'd be careful with him, if I were you," he murmured when Ed was out of earshot.

Morris nodded. "Our…Sherriff…isn't around right now. Ed and the others don't trust my judgment, as you could see."

"That's because you do the right thing, even when it isn't the easiest." The Doctor told him.

Morris scoffed. "Not so sure about that," he took off his hat and ran a hand across his hair. Then lifted his chin at Martha and John. "You can come along if you want to. John, I reckon you'll be wantin' your horse back. And…if you wanna see your friends…though I should warn ya – there ain't much to identify."

John turned to Sweet Mama and gestured that she return to the house. "We'll be back, alright? Don't let them fools stay up too late. Tell my boy…I'll see him soon."

Sweet Mama squeezed his hand and gave Martha a hug. "Ya'll be careful now, ya here?"

"Yes ma'am," Martha smiled warmly at her and watched as she shuffled on back up to the house.

"After you, Miss Jones." The Doctor's eyes glittered, a half smile playing at his lips, as he held the door of the old-timey police car for her. She ducked inside and settled herself into the back seat. It was stiff yet springy, the material covering it felt like hard, brittle suede. The Doctor allowed Mister John to slide in next to Martha, but before he climbed into the front seat, he stood near the car taking a deep breath. Martha realized something – it was a small car, despite The Doctor's mention of a 'seven passenger touring'. The night air was humid and there was definitely no such thing as air conditioning in 1939. They would be sitting inside for a while, crossing the bridge and driving into West Point. If he could smell blood on the air, she could only imagine how it might affect him to be trapped in this vehicle with three people. She worried for him. He stood with his eyes closed for a moment, taking long, slow breaths…and then sprang forward lithely. He slid in and shut the door. Deputy Morris was already inside, peering at him quizzically. "_Allons-y_ Deputy Morris!"

* * *

**The pace is about to pick up, just FYI. Once revelations in West Point are over with (in the next installment), the 28 days will go by quickly, and the end to this sweltering romp through 1940s Mississippi will be over fairly soon. Oh, and don't worry - there will be lots of Martha/Ten to go around. Then, of course, Martha, Ten, John, Etc. Battle the **_Haemovariform_**! Thank you all soooo much for reading!**


	18. Chapter 18

**XVIII.**

The back seat wasn't exactly roomy. Mister John was pressed against her, his long legs poking into The Doctor's back. At first he stared straight ahead, but every now and then he turned to look down at her. She met his gaze every time, though she couldn't think why. Then she remembered: he'd be going to see the bodies of two of his friends. She could only imagine what a shock the last couple of days had been for him, and now seeing his friends' mangled bodies would bring all that crashing down to Earth for him.

Before she could stop herself, she reached over the small distance and took his hand. He looked at her and she told him with her eyes that she was there to support him.

When they looked straight ahead again, Martha saw The Doctor's eyes on hers, through the rearview mirror. There was something in them that she just plain couldn't read. Then he wasn't looking at her anymore, just like that. He started talking with Deputy Morris. Martha swallowed.

She wasn't thick. But she was starting to feel a bit lost, sitting here in the back seat of this ancient police car, holding a stranger's hand, reeling from the ghost of The Doctor's kiss…

"So what about your Sheriff?" The Doctor was asking Morris, his eyes surveying the passing landscape as they made the turn onto the bridge. "You said he isn't around. Where's he gone off to?"

Morris hesitated, looking straight ahead at the road. "Leave of absence, that's all."

"Really?" The Doctor's eyebrows peaked. "Bit odd to be taking a holiday at the start of the summer, isn't it? What've you got, a handful of officers between two towns, if that? You've got hunting in the woods, hooligans out from school, pub fights, cow tipping – do they tip cows here, or is that the Mid West? Anyhow, you've got your summer crops coming in that need protecting from thieves, not to _mention_ policing the train yard…"

"This is a small county, Doctor. Hell, the people in them hospital beds make up half the population of West Point. We're a little short of staff, but we can handle it fine." He didn't sound convinced of his own argument, Martha noticed.

The Doctor did a face. "What, is he ill? Bit by a radioactive spider? Forced retirement? Some sort of scandal? Gambling debts? Pregnant mistress? Black Market suicide-?"

Mister John seemed surprised when Deputy Morris turned sharply to look at The Doctor. But Martha wasn't. Sometimes, The Doctor rattled things off to people to trick them into pinpointing whatever he was trying to guess at themselves. For his part, The Doctor pursed his lips as Deputy Morris realized his knee-jerk reaction hadn't gone unnoticed.

"Well, _that's_ interesting…" The Doctor murmured.

"What's a Black Market suicide?" Martha inquired from the back seat, her eyes darting back and forth between Deputy Morris (who looked increasingly uncomfortable) and The Doctor.

The Doctor turned around to address her.

"Well, back when The Great Depression first came about and filthy rich families started losing their fortunes, there was a string of suicides among the formerly wealthy, all across the country." He waved at the air with his slender fingers to indicate the expanse of the States, his words flowing out in a steady Doctor-ly stream. "Couldn't handle going from the estate house to the poor house, I imagine. But _some_ people got clever, criminals mostly, and other sorts too, and eventually the Black Market started gaining momentum, and goods were being sold dirt cheap; some stolen; some smuggled; some shoddy knock-offs like the fake designer handbags you see at those dodgy-looking booths in Piccadilly Circus. And of course, this is also when prostitution and drugs and all sorts of nasty stuff started experiencing a _boom_, you might say."

"Doctor…"

"Just a tick, here's the best part. Apparently, if you transport booze and tobacco from a high-tax state to a low-tax state and sell them there, you could make a _mint_. Brilliant, right? Completely illegal, of course, but just the same. It's…" his voice went up an octave and he squinted thoughtfully, "sort of like going on a Booze Cruise to Belgium for the cheap fags and Jack, only instead of getting smashed and snogging a stranger you'd most likely end up thrown in jail for a very long time." He paused and lifted an eyebrow at her. "_You've_ never done that, have you?"

Martha blinked at him. "What, gone on a Booze Cruise and snogged a stranger?" But he didn't wait for her to answer.

"No, doesn't matter. Annnyway-"

"_Doctor_." Martha interrupted again, growing impatient and suspecting that the initial question had gotten away from him. He had a tendency to start somewhere and end up telling you the entire history of the subject in question. His mouth was open, mid-sentence. "I _know_ what the Black Market is. And _no_, I've never done the Booze Cruise to Belgium. Now can you skip to the part about the suicide?"

"Right. Well, there was – is – a lot of corruption, really high up, in fact. Crime organizations in league with high-ranking businessmen, politicians, lawmen..."

"Right, like the mob. I get that, but, why did – _do_ – people…kill themselves?"

The Doctor met her gaze seriously. "Well, that's the thing. They weren't really suicides. They may have started out that way, but it turned into the perfect scapegoat before long. It was – will be – later discovered that during the Black Market Boom, criminals would bump people off and make it look like a suicide brought on by…ohhh…I dunno, sayyy…devastating monetary woes in the wake of the Depression? Same story, different versions."

"So…a Black Market suicide isn't suicide at all. It's…" Martha couldn't help glancing at Deputy Morris, who appeared to be concentrating very hard on his driving, even though they were practically the only car on the road, "…murder?"

The Doctor didn't reply, instead his serious expression returned and he turned back to the front slowly. He looked at the side of Deputy Morris' face. "What happened to the Sheriff, Deputy?"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"Look, you hafta understand," Morris said cautiously as he got out of the car and came round to meet them in front of the jailhouse, "I got my orders. Mayor himself told me what to say to people until he can get here and make a big show out of it for the front page of the paper. I just can't compete with clout like that. I got a wife to support."

"Yeah, but didn't you even think about doing your own bit of investigating?" The Doctor pressed.

On the way into West Point, he had confessed that he and Ed found the Sheriff hanging from his belt in one of the empty cells. He didn't leave a note, and there hadn't been any foreboding behavior to warn them. Before he had a chance to wrap his head around it, he was speaking to the Mayor himself, taking time from his tour across Mississippi giving town hall speeches to contact Morris personally. According to the Deputy, Mayor Henry Lawson White gave him explicit instructions, with a pretty clear undertone of 'I'll take no refusal whatsoever', to cover up the suicide.

"What, you think I'm stupid, Doctor?" Morris uttered earnestly, now, standing face to face with The Doctor. His face was solemn, if not a bit haunted by moral indecision and weariness, his voice low. "Think I don't know what that means? I had a hunch for a long time Sheriff was into the black market. You sound like you know enough about it – so you tell me: you think it's wise to go stickin' my nose into that kinda business?"

The Doctor gazed at Morris empathetically, but didn't speak.

"Now, you may think us small town lawmen are pretty blockheaded, and maybe we are, but I won't put my wife in harm's way to go down a path I already know leads to trouble." He sighed. "'Sides which, this whole werewolf business is trouble enough."

"But hasn't the Sheriff got any family or anything?" Martha spoke up. "Won't people miss him?"

Morris shook his head. "None to speak of. Had a wife, she took ill about ten years ago and died the following winter. No children; she couldn't have 'em. Sometimes I think since his Emma died he became even more of an evil som'bitch than he used to be…"

"No brothers or sisters or…cousins?" Martha pressed.

Morris' eyes regarded her with bemusement. "No ma'am…"

"No one's gonna miss him, Miss Martha," Mister John said quietly, a hard edge to his voice. Then he remembered himself in front of the Deputy and stiffened his frame as if expecting retaliation of some kind from his comment.

"It's alright, John," Morris reached over and clapped John on the back. "You're right about that. No one's gonna miss him…"

"Well, _he_ sounds like the cat's whiskers, doesn't he?" The Doctor quipped.

"You mean the 'cat's meow'?" Martha corrected him.

The Doctor frowned. "What'd I say?"

Martha shook her head and quickly tried to hide her grin as Morris unlocked the doors and they went inside. _A man has died, Martha,_ she reprimanded herself, getting the urge to laugh under control.

Mississippi seemed to have no shortage of hot little rooms, and this jailhouse did not disappoint. It was narrow, dingy, and smelled of gunpowder, metal, sweat, and coffee. There were three desks huddled in the middle of the little room – one sat in front while the other two sat next to each other behind it. The one in front had a nameplate sitting on it that read 'SECRETARY' and it was neatly organized. All the papers were stacked meticulously and the pens were all lined up in a row.

The other two desks were sloppily strewn with papers, ashtrays full of butts, half-empty coffee mugs, pens, chalk, and any number of other random office things. One nameplate read 'OFFICER HOMER PIKE' and the other read 'OFFICER EDWARD MILLS'.

Wooden benches with cuff stations lined the far wall. There were two halls at the opposite sides of the room. The walls above the entranceways were painted with red letters announcing where they lead. One lead to the Deputy Sheriff's office and the holding cells, while the other to the County Coroner's office/'ice box'. The halls were flanking a large office with windows looking out into the space. The blinds were open, a lamp casting soft yellow light out to them. The desk was twice as large as the ones out here, and the furniture looked much nicer, too. Two big brown leather armchairs sat in front of it. The nameplate on the door read SHERIFF MAXWELL DOWNEY'.

The ceiling fans did nothing but shift the hot air around. Mister John gazed around the building as if revolted by it, but he didn't speak as Morris led them past the front desk and towards where his office resided near the hall that held the prisoners' cells. "Short staffed, indeed…" The Doctor muttered to Martha. "There isn't a soul here."

"Sent Maureen, my secretary, and the other staff home for curfew," Morris supplied, opening his office door for them. "Rest of my men are out in them woods, searchin' for a wolf we won't find."

"Yeah, about that," The Doctor tugged on his ear. "More than likely there are two of them, and more than likely they've changed back to human form. And…" his eyes landed on Mister John. "More than likely one of them is Lenny Wilkes."

"Goddamn it, I _knew_ it!" Mister John cursed, sighing hard and rubbing his face. "I just knew it…"

"Sweet Jesus…one of the Wilkes boys?" Morris leaned heavily against the edge of his desk. He took off his hat, and his ash-colored dark hair was slick with sweat. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, who's the other one?"

The Doctor shook his head, now pacing across the narrow space. "I'm not sure. But I think he was with Percy when the Haemovariform crash landed…"

"Slick Tony," Mister John blurted out. "Yeah – Percy used to talk a blue streak about his friend Slick Tony, gon' come in from Memphis and clean house down the juke joint. Gon' save themselves a fortune and get out of White Station, head up North. We never really put much stock in it – lots of folks dream about getting' the hell outta here, never come to pass. But I always hoped, for Percy…damn. Boy'll never make it, now."

"Doctor, could this Slick Tony bloke be the other werewolf? Maybe someone has seen them together, could give us a description." Martha asked.

The Doctor shrugged, evidentially not thinking much of it. He was deep in thought on _something_, but she couldn't guess what. She felt like telling him that he was being rude again, but then he stopped abruptly and looked at Deputy Morris. "Bodies?"

Morris stared at him. "Beg your pardon?"

"Bodies, you said. You've got bodies in the ice box. All the bodies? Percy, Walter, and your Sheriff, yes?"

"Yeah…"

The Doctor bounded across the room towards the door. "Well let's see them, come on."

Morris and Mister John looked to Martha to make sense of The Doctor's behavior. She could only give them a 'just go with it' expression and lead them out of the office after him.

"Thing is…!" The Doctor called behind him as he strode confidently down the corridor towards the Coroner's office. He removed his sonic from his pocket as he walked, twirling it around in his fingers agilely. "There's something I'm missing here; something right in front of my face…I hate it when that happens."

Deputy Morris was fetching his keys to unlock the office but The Doctor waved him off.

"No, no, allow me."

He sonicked the door and walked through it. Deputy Morris frowned hard. "How did you do that?"

"Ohhh, it's got over two thousand settings, most of the time I'm just guessing – is it this way?" He switched feet quickly and was turning on his heel, disappearing around a corner. "I can smell it; it's _this_ way." He reappeared, headed in the opposite direction.

They hurried behind him.

When Martha stepped through the threshold to the 'ice box', she was hit with a wave of revulsion so powerful that she almost retched right there on Mister John's shoes.

It wasn't the smell, really – though that certainly didn't _help_ the situation. It was just…bloody _awful_. Though it was cold inside, Martha didn't think it was nearly cold enough. It looked like the place doubled as a morgue and an autopsy room. The bodies of Walter Fletcher and Percy Daniels were not in cold storage, as they should've been. They lay atop autopsy tables, with blue coverings pulled up to their chins, their faces swollen black and blue. The frozen look of terror on poor Walter Fletcher's disfigured face…

Martha turned away and walked out again, her heart pounding and tears welling in her eyes. She was shaking a little, her nerves going to work on her at the horrific sight. She was a medical student – she had seen dead bodies before. She had seen death; she had seen bad things, painful things, happen to people. But Walter was nice to her. He seemed like such a good bloke. And to hear the way Mister John spoke of Percy…from what little she'd seen of his young face…oh, it was just horrendous. No one deserved to die as they had.

"Martha…" it was John. Martha reached up immediately, standing on her tiptoes, and wrapped her arms around his neck, clinging to him. He embraced her with his strong arms, bringing her close.

"I'm so sorry!" she whispered.

"Thank you. I am too…"

"They let them lay there…that's cruel! It's-it's _barbaric_! Why aren't they in storage?"

"Coroner and Sheriff are the same breed of man. I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Martha?" The Doctor was calling her. His voice sounded urgent, though it was simultaneously soft with understanding.

Martha took a breath, releasing Mister John's neck and stepping back. She wiped her face and channeled her professional self, determined to swallow down her initial reaction and let it go. Mister John gave her shoulder a squeeze and she touched his fingers appreciatively before walking back into the room.

"What is it?"

The Doctor was standing over the body of Percy Daniels, a blue coroner's mask held over his mouth and nose with one hand. His other hand held his sonic, and he was using it to scan Percy's body. He stopped scanning when he heard her, and looked up to face her. His eyes locked on hers for a second, and she felt he might ask her if she was alright. He didn't.

"Need a second opinion, almost-doctor Jones."

Martha took her eyes away from his and forced herself to look at Percy as she walked forward, accepting a spare mask from Deputy Morris. Mister John hung back, staring at the body of his friend with a haunted look in his eyes. "What am I second opinioning?"

The Doctor pointed to the body. "Look there."

"Where?"

"_There_, go on." He waved the whirring sonic along the corpse, not really giving her a particular spot to examine. Plus the body was still covered with the blue sheet. Martha steeled herself and lifted the sheet. She gaped. Deputy Morris gaped. The Doctor was grinning under the mask.

Martha looked up at him, then at the body, then up at him again. "What the hell is _this?_"

"_You_ tell _me_, Doctor Jones." His eyes glinted at her under the dim white light in the room. Martha was angry with this establishment for it's cruel treatment of these men, and she was by now pretty emotionally tapped. His teasing wasn't amusing her. He sighed. "Well, clearly his wounds have healed."

"What?" Mister John came forward.

"He's right," Martha supplied as John stared at Percy in disbelief. "And – _look_ – its still happening!"

The Doctor had been peering at his sonic, probably examining the readings, but now he looked down and his eyes grew wide. Where there seemed to have been a giant, jagged gash torn through Percy's flesh from his hip up to his armpit, the peach-colored fatty tissue was slowly sinking back into the brown flesh, and the jagged pattern was ever-so-slightly mending itself. One had to really stare to observe it, but it was happening.

"Ohhh, that's _beautiful_!"

Deputy Morris and Mister John gawked at him.

"I mean – that's…odd, isn't it?"

"Doctor, explanation. Please." Martha demanded.

"Right." The Doctor moved away from Percy's body and sauntered over to Walter's. He was in worse shape, at least from the chin up. They all followed. "This might be nasty," he warned, his eyes on hers, before lifting back the sheet.

Martha looked, along with the others.

Walter's back had been broken. His elbow shattered, the bone protruding through the skin. He had more gashes and rips than Percy. Martha had heard his poor body being destroyed with her own ears. She would never forget the sound. And, as they watched, all of that was very slowly righting itself.

It was disgusting, and simultaneously fascinating.

"God, what's happening to them?" Martha gulped, feeling her stomach lurch.

The Doctor checked his sonic again. "Just as I thought. They've been infected with lupine cells. Loads of them. And lupine cells, when they mingle with human DNA, trigger a regenerative process when tissues are damaged."

"But – Doc, these fellas are _dead_!" Morris pointed out.

"Yes, they are." The Doctor said ominously. "Probably why it's taking so long. Percy's almost finished, but poor Walter here has a long way to go."

"Wait, if they're dead, how can they be regenerating?" Martha prodded him.

"I told you, lupine cells. They're marvelously clever little nasties, them." He sonicked Walter's body, and Martha watched the bone in his elbow sink back into the flesh before her eyes. She shivered. "See? Just gave it a bit of a push. Anyway – the cells are reanimating the flesh. They have their host; they haven't anywhere else to go. They fight to survive, whether the host has or not."

He looked at Martha, lowering his chin and raising an eyebrow. "Does any of this seem familiar?"

She started to shake her head, but then she thought about it. When it came to her, she bounced on her heeled shoes, in a rather Doctor-ly fashion. "The Clades! They used those outlaws as hosts, even though they'd both died in a gunfight!"

"_Correctomundo!_" The Doctor exclaimed proudly, then did a face. "Ugh, I promised myself I'd never use that word again…"

"Doctor?" Mister John's voice was low and intense. "What happens when they finished regeneratin'?"

The Doctor sighed. He lowered the sheet and walked towards them, meeting Mister John's gaze. The stoic black man looked as though he already knew the answer, but he needed to hear The Doctor say it. Martha looked away from them for a moment, at Percy. Her heart sank when she realized what The Doctor would tell him.

"Then they'll be at the mercy of the Haemovariform," uttered The Doctor gently, the blue mask muffling his voice – making it come out soft and sanded with sympathy. "They won't be Percy and Walter anymore. Their bodies will operate under lupine control, but the friends you knew will be gone."

"Can we stop it, Doctor?" Martha asked, staring at Percy's body.

"I don't have the power to reverse the process, Martha. I've already tried with the sonic, and it's…beyond me."

He sounded as though he really hated admitting that. Martha stood before him, touching his arm. "Can you try something else? Anything? You saw what those zombies in Redwater were like. Don't let that happen to Mister John's friends. _Please_, Doctor…at least try."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor gazed down into Martha's deep, affecting brown eyes.

He couldn't refuse her. Especially not since he had so much to make up for. His behavior tonight, for starters. Two stolen kisses and a rather rubbish explanation – _oh it's the werewolf in me, sweetheart, just go with it._ Ugh. He _deserved_ that telling off she gave him.

He nodded at Martha, an idea blooming in his mind. "There may be something," he said solemnly.

Martha squeezed his arm, her eyes burrowing into his encouragingly. Her concern and sympathy, her goodness, her desire to always do the right thing (even for total strangers), her sheer _humanity_ – affected him more than she knew.

"But I should warn you…I'm not sure if I can-"

"Just try." Martha said, stepping back from him and moving to stand between Mister John and Deputy Morris.

The Doctor turned to face Percy. Since he'd been exposed to the cells longest, he might be the easiest to reach. The Doctor didn't really _want_ to do this. But, he thought, if anything he might be able to gain more information. Useful information. So there was that. Still…this poor child…

He _was_ a child, compared to The Doctor. Being alive for over nine hundred years and seeing this human child who hadn't even been given twenty. It angered him. The Doctor made up his mind and came to stand beside the grim, cold, steel table where Percy lay. He knew Percy was dead, but out of respect he spoke to him anyway.

"I'm so sorry, Percy…"

The Doctor glanced up at his audience once before continuing. He felt something stir in him when he noticed that Mister John and Martha were holding hands, their fingers interlaced. He told himself that that was alright; that of course Martha was offering the grieving man emotional support by holding his hand. He told himself that it didn't bother him; refusing to recognize that prickly emotion that he loathed – jealousy. It was rubbish and he had something to be getting on with right about now, didn't he?

He looked away and down at Percy's death mask of a face. He turned on his sonic and ran it over and along Percy's body. The process began to speed up, as the sonic waves stimulated the lupine cells within. It was only a parlor trick, compared to the complexity with which these microscopic menaces went about their nasty business. As he did his work, his ire rose considerably. He had to stop them.

The Haemovariform were afraid, of course. They were losing a war, desperate to preserve their existence; desperate to save their planets and their people. But that desperation was driving them to wage another war on an unsuspecting people; an innocent people. A people The Doctor happened to be very fond of.

"I'm The Doctor," he said to the body. "And I'm here to help."

The Doctor turned off his sonic and tucked it back into his inner jacket pocket. He reached down with both hands and touched Percy's temples with his fingers. The flesh was cold and stiff, but The Doctor knew that would change eventually – if 'Percy' were allowed to become a Haemovariform puppet.

He closed his eyes and began to open the passages he'd sealed off in order to escape his unconscious hibernation earlier. He could feel the Haemovariform consciousness reaching out for him – the many tentacled creature slinking around in his mind, waiting, biding its time. His brow furrowed and he clenched his jaw, wanting to turn and run from it, but not daring. It reached out to him, invading his mind, and he let it come.

_Bond with us, Doctor…_

Martha gasped and Deputy Morris gave a start. The Doctor didn't open his eyes. He knew that the Haemovariform had spoken through Percy.

"No thanks," he said easily, concentrating. "I _will_ have something else off you, though."

_You cannot escape. You cannot win. Bond with us…breed, feed, con-!_

"Ohh, you're not gonna start up with _that_ again, are you?"

_Martha…your Martha…_

"You won't get anywhere with that one, either, so _don't even start!_" The Doctor snapped through clenched teeth.

He felt the consciousness fluctuate and flutter. He had taken it by surprise, it seemed. It hadn't expected that, in the time since he'd last struggled with it, he'd be able to resist it so easily. The Doctor flexed his mental power, further showing it that it didn't have quite as rigid a hold on him as it would like.

_No matter_…it spoke, it's confidence returning. _When the moon turns again to the sun…you will join us…you will bond…you will feed…_

"Why are you using this boy? What could you possibly accomplish with him?" The Doctor asked it, ignoring its diatribe.

There was a pause. A rather uncomfortable swirling in his head, as if it was trying to confuse him. Cover something up. He grinned darkly.

"You've lost your window of opportunity, lupine. It's a new moon. You'll have to wait it out, and by then..."

_We will be victorious!_ It raged. _We will defeat the Clade barbarians! WE WILL CONQUOR THIS PLANET, BREEEEEED IT'S PEOPLE, AND RETURN TO KRUMAS TRIUMPHANT!_

"Oh-ho-ho, somebody's a little cocky, eh? Little premature, don't you think? I'd say you haven't got much cause to celebrate at the moment."

The creepy, crawly consciousness gnashed its telepathic teeth, causing The Doctor to wince. He pushed on.

"You should've known better than to try and recruit a Time Lord. Your masters ought to have warned you…I'm resourceful, I'm clever, and I'm _dangerous_ when I'm angry…"

_What do you want, Time Lord?_

"Let this body go. You won't accomplish anything with him, or the other."

_You are incorrect._

"_No_, you're desperate! You're not fooling me, we're connected, remember?"

_You cannot resist…you cannot win. We are part of you; we are one. Join!_

"I really hate repeating myself…" The Doctor pushed hard, and he took the thing by surprise. He got a glimpse of something – the faces of the people they'd attacked. The…_conscious_ faces. Of course.

Then he was shut out again; that same swirling misdirection from before turning him around until he was thinking of Martha standing in the town hall, her eyes flat and resigned as she faced certain death to save John Smith and Joan Redfern. _"I think you should escort your lady friend to safety, don't you?"_

"I'm on to you…" The Doctor growled, forcing the memory away from him. "I will give you one last chance. And I don't give second chances, so listen carefully: leave this body."

_We cannot. We will die._

"You're already dead! This body is a puppet to you, you can't sustain it for a whole month, not without it falling apart and I won't let you do that."

_We have others…_

"Oh, I know. I've seen them."

_You cannot stop us…_

"If that's true, then you should have no problem giving up this body, and Walter Fletcher's."

_They belong to us._

"I'm warning you. Let them go. Now."

There was silence. Then:

_You said before…that you could help us bring down the Clades. How?_

"I will help you if you stop your advance on this planet."

_We cannot. The Senate is being alerted. This planet is ours._

"Then I guess there's nothing more to say."

_We will release this human. But you cannot win, Doctor. Do not resist. Join…we do not give second chances, either._

"Is that a promise? Can't wait." The Doctor let go of Percy's temples and stepped back, closing his mind again. He removed his sonic again and ran a scan. He stared down at the body, and watched as the body seemed to deflate. The wounds opened up again, the skin turned sallow and the decay began to intrude upon the corpse in rapid fashion. Behind him, he could hear three hearts beating furiously as they watched. He wanted to look at Martha. Wanted to see her face. He wanted to put his arm around her shoulders and hold her close to him. But that was Mister John's job at the moment.

"Did they…let him go?" Deputy Morris asked when The Doctor turned off his sonic and slipped it back into his pocket.

The Doctor turned to them. "Yes. But we're not out of the woods, yet. We need to go to the hospital. Now."

* * *

**"Black Market suicide" is totally made up - by me! :P Thanks for reading!**


	19. Chapter 19

**Whew! Firstly, so sorry to keep you guys waiting for an update. Work and life has been a bit insane these past weeks, and finally, _finally_ I was able to get some writing done today! This is a bit of a long one, apologies. I just had so much ground to cover. I'm setting up for a bit of Ten/Martha action in the next installment that I hope will be...well, pretty mind-blowing actually. I'll give you a hint - the story rating will change. I know I'm really setting myself up for high expectations here, but if it turns out in any way like I'm picturing it in my mind, I'll be totally satisfied. Enjoy, update coming much sooner than this one took, promise.**

* * *

**XIX.**

Morris' head was reeling.

This man was speaking to dead bodies. And they were speaking back. This man had a little silver tool that unlocked doors and made flesh mend itself – and _who knew_ what else. This man was all over the place, talking a mile a minute, leading them this way and that.

And they were following.

This man had somehow gotten him to divulge information about the Sheriff that no one was supposed to know. No one. Not even Ed and Homer had the whole story. Now this man and his friend (and GYST House John of all people) knew the shady details.

Morris figured he had two choices: he could trust this man and his friend; he could go along and hope this all started to make sense real, real soon…or he could arrest them all and try to deal with this werewolf business all by himself.

Well there was no way in hell he was doing the latter.

So he followed. The man said 'hospital' and Deputy Morris didn't hesitate. He led them out of the jailhouse, taking care to lock up on the way, and out into town. Ed, Homer, and the rest of the search party should've been on their way back by now. He hadn't a clue what he would tell them when they got back, but he chose to cross that bridge when he came to it.

He was the Deputy Sheriff. This was _his_ town. He was doing the right thing…he _hoped_ he was doing the right thing…

_No turning back now, Hugh_…he told himself. Down the line, when it came time to answer for his actions, he'd face it without regret. In the meantime, his instincts told him to follow this man.

So they walked to the car, piled in, and Morris drove them to the county hospital. When he cut the engine, he hesitated, even as The Doctor was getting out hastily. "Hm…" he glanced at Martha and Mister John. "Maybe you two oughta wait here?"

"What for?" Martha demanded, already moving to follow The Doctor.

"What the Deputy is tryin' to say, Martha…" Mister John said quietly when words failed Morris, "is that Negroes ain't allowed in there."

Martha set her jaw. "Yeah I figured that." She paused. "But if we're with the Deputy, it should be fine, right? So come on."

Deputy Morris opened his mouth to protest, but she was gone in a flutter of her dress, following The Doctor up the path to the hospital entrance. Mister John exchanged glances with Morris. They both held the same sentiment in their expressions: these two were not from here, didn't seem to care that they weren't from here, and could easily wind up in trouble because of it. But, Morris thought, the girl did have a point. He was the Deputy Sheriff. This town knew that Morris was the more objective of the two men, he and Downey. They would respect his authority, even though he'd get grief about it.

At this point, any grief he got was nothing compared to the threat of whatever the hell it was they were dealing with.

Resolved, he climbed out, followed by Mister John. "I'll wait outside," John said solemnly.

"You aren't coming?" Martha paused; the Doctor was waiting impatiently near her.

"I need the fresh air after bein' in the ice box. Need to clear my head a lil'."

The Doctor nodded solemnly and turned around to enter the hospital. Martha hesitated, looking like she wanted to protest, but eventually caught up with him.

Morris gave John another glance as well, not really knowing how to relate to the man who probably thought of him as no better than any of the other law men in the county. But Mister John simply stood looking pensive. Morris tossed him the keys to the Lincoln.

"Don't stand there too long. Get on back inside when you've had your breather. Anybody bother you, you tell 'em you're waitin' for me, you hear? Send 'em to _me_ if they got somethin' to say."

"Yes, sir." Morris knew that making John get back in the car looked bad, but he knew the other man understood. If someone came along and saw him sitting in the back seat…well, what trouble could they cause if it appeared that he was in trouble already?

Morris hesitated again. He sighed. "I'm sorry about those boys, John. I really am."

When John didn't respond, the Deputy turned and hurried in after The Doctor and Martha, feeling a strong since of responsibility to make things right.

"_Deputy!_"

Head Nurse June Tucker, a witch of a woman who was always looking down her nose at people, black or white, waved him over urgently. She was tight-lipped and red-faced. The Doctor was glaring at her, and so was Martha. Nurse Tucker gave them their looks right back, crossing her arms over the admittance desk, in a huff.

"These people barged in here, demanding to see private medical records and speak to Doctor Lloyd – who is _not_ available!" She direct that last to The Doctor.

Then she gave Martha a thinly veiled look of derision, her eyes traveling up and down the girl's body imperiously.

"And further more, _this one_ shouldn't be here. Negroes enter in the _back_, and unless you're custodial staff, missy, you aren't allowed on these premises."

Martha clenched her jaw, clearly biting back a retort.

"Stop talking." The Doctor ordered. Nurse Tucker gaped at him indignantly, her mouth dropping open. His eyes were full of that fiery ire again, same as he'd shown Ed on John's lawn. His voice was low and cold. "Turn around, and page Doctor Lloyd."

"Deputy, are you going to _do_ something about this?" Nurse Tucker demanded, her voice shaking a little despite how she tried to keep up her unwelcoming demeanor.

"Where's Doctor Lloyd, June?" Morris asked patiently, not reprimanding The Doctor in any way.

She sputtered, her face turning even redder. "He isn't available. I cannot permit this…this…_foreigner_ and his n***** gal to go barging-!"

"_Good, we'll find him on our own, then. _Deputy, _you_ deal with her." The Doctor turned and began sauntering quickly down the corridor. "Martha, you coming?"

"With pleasure." Martha followed him without a second glance at the nurse.

Head Nurse Tucker's eyes bugged out and she watched, open-mouthed as they went. Morris pointed to the page box behind her. "Pick up your jaw and page Doctor Lloyd. Tell him I need to see him. I brought an expert. Go on, now."

He was satisfied to hear Nurse Tucker paging Lloyd as he followed The Doctor and Martha. She didn't sound happy about it; in fact she sounded downright shrill with anger. Martha had not said anything, though Morris could see that her jaw was clenched so tightly she might crack a tooth or two if she didn't let up.

"Martha, don't waste your anger on her," The Doctor instructed, his voice surprisingly gentle given the anger _he'd_ shown only a moment ago. "She's a small-minded woman. Not worth it." Morris saw him reach over and squeeze her hand. Then: "Ah! You must be Doctor Lloyd!" Suddenly, The Doctor was grinning widely. Odd man.

"Deputy Morris!" Lloyd ignored The Doctor. "What in blue blazes is going on here?" Now he gestured to The Doctor and Martha like they were the 'here' he was referring to.

"I brought you an expert to take a look at those patients of ours, doc. You wanted a second opinion; here he is."

The Doctor stood with Martha, eyeing Lloyd expectantly. Lloyd observed them, looking skeptical. "What is your field of expertise, Doctor…who?"

"Doctor Smith. Here." He took out a thin, black leather billfold and opened it. Morris and Lloyd peered over at it. It told them that he specialized in obscure diseases, and that he was head of a research lab in Cambridge, England. It also told them that Martha Jones was his assistant.

"Who is Martha Jones?" Doctor Lloyd asked, his eyebrow raising as he observed the two of them.

"Obviously, _she is_." The Doctor said impatiently, jerking his head towards Martha as he returned the billfold to his inner jacket pocket. "Top of my class, this one – now we have a few questions for you, if you don't mind."

Doctor Lloyd's face became guarded.

"This is Sheriff's business, doc." Morris insisted. "We're tryin' ta help, here. Be in your best interest to cooperate."

"The patients, where are they?" The Doctor demanded.

Lloyd hesitated for just a bit, then sighed heavily. "This way..."

Lloyd led them down the corridor. As they walked, Morris did not fail to notice that Martha was drawing looks from the staff. As was The Doctor. The pair of them. Their oddness was like a magnet, or a target – they exuded 'outsider' but that was also mingling with the a sort aloof confidence that The Doctor oozed in buckets as he strode forward, his chin up and a no-nonsense expression on his ever-changing face.

Doctor Lloyd led them around a corner and down the following corridor towards the small ward where he was keeping all the attack victims.

The Doctor, Martha, and Morris entered behind Lloyd and The Doctor stopped in his tracks, his eyes closing tight. He tilted his head, his breathing going still. Martha shot him a concerned glance. "Doctor, what is it?"

Morris looked around and saw that they were all in the same state as when he'd left that morning. Sleeping, breathing rapidly, eyes darting this way and that under closed lids. The bandages and evidence of their wounds were missing, as they'd all miraculously recovered from the attacks that brought them here in the first place.

Lloyd hovered near one of the nurses, observing The Doctor skeptically. "You wanted to see them, here they are."

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked around the room. He glanced at Martha. Morris heard him say under his breath: "It's too late, I can feel it. They've been taken."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha felt a sinking dread come over her at The Doctor's words, and she turned to look around the small ward at the dozens of patients in the tiny white cots. _These poor people_, she thought.

They were all unconscious, exhibiting the same fitful state of 'dreaming' as The Doctor had shown when he was hold up in Percy's hot little room. She opened her mouth to speak, but Doctor Lloyd cleared his throat impatiently.

The Doctor and Morris went to meet him at the nearest patient's bedside.

A nurse eyed Martha with a mixture of curiosity and distrust, but Martha smiled at her thinly, determined not to let the woman's stare get to her. Martha instead conjured her medical training and turned a shrewd eye to the patient before her. It was a young woman. She looked to be in her twenties, with dirty blonde hair and freckles. She was lying still except for her rapidly heaving chest as she breathed in and out fitfully. She didn't have an I.V. in (none of the patients did, it seemed, which struck Martha as odd), but a small red puncture point on her skin in the cleft of her arm revealed where they'd taken blood recently. Her eyes were in a state of frenzy under the lids, the nerves in her temples twitching.

It seemed that The Doctor had been waiting for Martha before he spoke. "So, what's the story, Doctor Lloyd?"

Doctor Lloyd cleared his throat again and sighed. He gestured somewhat helplessly at the young woman. Martha picked up her chart, which was hanging by its catch at the foot of her bed. The woman was called Beth Pickens. She was twenty-five.

"Physically, they all seem to be in excellent order. Even…" Lloyd trailed off, lowering his gaze as if he lacked confidence in what he was saying.

The Doctor lifted his chin at the balding man, his own eyes wide and perceptive, "…in even better shape than when they were admitted?"

"Well, yes." Doctor Lloyd admitted, reluctantly.

"What labs were done?" Martha asked, scanning the chart. "Standard, yeah? Blood? Swabs? Urine?"

"Yes," answered Lloyd. "And as you can see, they all came out normal."

"Normal? Let me see that." The Doctor frowned, removing his dark rimmed spectacles from his inner jacket pocket and reaching for the chart. Martha handed it over.

"He's right," she offered. "All normal. Nothing out of place, except, well…how _healthy_ they all seem."

"Not even in the blood work…?" The Doctor muttered to himself, chewing on his lip as he flipped through the pages of the chart.

"Precisely," Doctor Lloyd drew their attention back to him. "Although, those results should suggest otherwise, we simply can't _see_ what's causing it! Well, not with the usual tests, anyway. But you see here, the _physical_ symptoms are undeniable. We're lucky to get blood drawn at all, they heal so fast! A few nurses had problems with needles getting pushed out before they could complete the procedure."

He gestured to Beth Pickens' arm. Martha saw, before her eyes, that the tiny prick in her arm where they'd drawn blood had disappeared. Morris moved closer, squinting. "Just like in the ice box…" he muttered.

"What are your theories Doctor Lloyd? I'm curious." Asked The Doctor, staring at Beth's unconscious form somberly through his spectacles.

"It's…inexplicable." He shook his head distractedly, thinking, his eyes narrowed. Martha noticed that he seemed to have relaxed a bit now, and was genuinely caught up in offering his scientific and medical opinion, "…the symptoms aren't _de_generative – exactly the opposite, in fact! Wounds on the mend in a matter of seconds, heart rate and blood pressure all excellent, even their hair and fingernails have double protein deposits. Young Beth, here had whooping cough she caught from a younger cousin; I was treating her myself! But it's gone now, just gone. An old farmer, Mister Clark, had arthritis in his knees and back, but the bones are now as strong as a man half his age! All of them, every single one, healthy as horses!"

"Mm," murmured The Doctor, still observing Beth Pickens. He stepped forward, inching past Doctor Lloyd and the nurse, and bent over the head of Beth's cot. He reached out and touched her gently on the forehead. "She's burning up with fever…"

"We rotate ice packs every hour or so," said the nurse tightly, folding her hands together at her waste. "It simply won't break. The fever suggests infection of some kind, but we have no idea what course of treatment we can administer. What do you give a feverish patient with no traceable symptoms of illness?"

Though her demeanor was reserved and somewhat precautious, Martha could see the nurse respected The Doctor's authoritative presence – unlike her fellow staff member at the triage desk.

"Indeed, what?" The Doctor nodded, and gestured for Martha to come forward. "Do you feel that?"

Martha placed her hand on Beth's forehead. Everyone stared at her. The fever was just like The Doctor's had been. The Doctor plucked a thermometer from a kit sitting near the bed and handed it to Martha. She took the woman's temperature as everyone watched her, then checked the reading.

"This should be impossible…" she muttered. The woman's temp was well over a hundred, a sign of serious infection. However, she looked perfectly healthy aside from her fitful dream state. No visible signs of peakyness, no sweating, nothing. The diagnostics report in her chart and the indication of her body temperature were completely contradictory.

"But the blood work doesn't show anything abnormal," Martha continued, removing her hand from Beth and looking up at The Doctor's face. He nodded again, grimly. "How come?"

The Doctor took off his glasses and chewed on one of the ear handles thoughtfully. "Perhaps we just aren't looking deep enough."

Martha was puzzled, but The Doctor was already moving around the bed towards Lloyd, Morris, and the nurse again.

"The blood labs, may we see them?" Doctor Lloyd hesitated, exchanging glances with the nurse.

"Of course, but you wont find anything useful," he answered, but The Doctor was already moving towards the doors. "We've run them through a dozen times already, taking samples every hour, nothing's changed."

They all emerged into the hall again, and The Doctor spotted a sign that told him where the labs were. He began walking briskly in that direction, not waiting for permission, as the others followed quickly behind him.

Martha caught him up and touched his shoulder. "Are you sure being around…erm…_blood_ is a smart idea?" she whispered so the others couldn't hear.

"It could be a very bad idea, actually. It's a bad idea for me to be in this hospital altogether, but what choice have I? I've got to find out if my hunch is correct."

"What hunch?"

He glanced down at her sideways, his glasses still dangling by the ear handle between his lips as he shoved his hands into his pockets. "If I'm right, the lupine cells were engineered to be even cleverer than I initially thought. I've heard of cell cloaking before, but I always sort of scoffed at it…the academic in me, I s'pose."

Martha frowned, walking brusquely to keep up with his lanky stride. "Cell cloaking?"

"Hmm, yah," he sighed as they rounded another corner. "If that's what they're doing, we're in trouble. My sonic can detect signs of activity, but in order to reverse the process, I need to be able to examine the cells up close."

A few minutes later, Martha was looking around at the lab, unable to help her curiosity. Compared to LazLabs, and even her own working environment at Royal Hope, it was down right prehistoric-looking.

The lighting was dark and yellow. Under it, the equipment looked familiar; all the right pieces were there, sort of. The posters and announcements adorning the walls were filled with early twentieth century medical information, some of which had been disproven or advanced or corrected by the time she walked through the halls of Royal Hope.

Everything looked so dated. Yet, still new. It was surreal, as a lot of her experiences with The Doctor were.

Included in these was a hand-painted anatomical figure in the corner with the skin, skeleton, muscles and organs all brightly colored and removable, and she was amused to know they still used a version of these in her biology classes in the twenty-first century. There was a hand-drawn poster of the anatomical breakdown of the human heart, a pregnancy flow chart illustrating the size and growth progress of the fetus each month. More posters breaking down the human lungs and skeleton, and large-scale painted models of the human eye, ear canal, and brain as well as rusty little sterilization cabinets and plaster molds of body parts lying about. All standard…yet special because they belonged to a time years and years away from hers.

She marveled at a poster for the "_Wondrous New X-Ray Machine_" that _"Finally Reveals The Secrets Of The Human Body!"_

It had only just been invented, judging by the date on the poster and fine print announcing that there was only a handful around the world being used right now. Doctor Lloyd must've had one, if he could tell that the farmer's bones were free of arthritis. Interesting, that a small hospital in the middle of nowhere Mississippi had access to such equipment. When she questioned him about it he told her that he had connections with prominent figures in the medical community. He had secured one of the machines for the hospital through a favor and he'd been using it for a few months.

"I was on the verge of contacting someone for a second opinion, but Deputy Morris advised me against it. So I'm a little curious as to where you two came from. I have colleagues in Cambridge," he told her, his suspicious demeanor returning as The Doctor set up in the lab.

"I got connections, too, doc," Morris offered.

"We were just passing through, really." The Doctor tossed off distractedly. "Never could resist a good hospital, right Martha? Call it a hobby of mine. Like to pop in to see if anyone needs assistance with any obscure diseases or plasma coils hanging about, you know. The work's never done, eh?"

Martha chimed in. "Doctor Smith is definitely one for sniffing out strange medical phenomenon," she said as casually as she could muster, "we always sort of end up in the right place at the right time."

_Or, quite the opposite_, she thought.

She also wanted to tell Lloyd that instead of questioning her and The Doctor about their backgrounds, he should take caution using that x-ray machine. In this time, the effects of the radiation (especially on pregnant women) were virtually unknown. She decided against it, though. The Doctor always warned her about tampering with established events, changing the natural progression of Big Moments in History ("BMH, Martha, BMH…" he would cough at her if she slipped and revealed something no one should know yet). She had the same thoughts in 1913, watching the way Nurse Redfern ran her small medical ward at Ferringham. So many times she had to restrain herself from jumping in to help; and how fascinated she was by the early methods of turn of the century medicine.

Mr. Stoker used to keep a genuine 16th century microscope (one of the first ever used) on the shelf in his office. He said it had been passed down through his family; most of the men on his father's side having ended up in the medical profession in some way or other. She remembered wondering, whenever she saw it, how it must've been to be in the medical field all that time ago. She read the histories and studied the generations of medical advancements for school, but to be there when they actually happened! She understood the naive boastfulness of the X-Ray poster. The sheer excitement; the _immersion_ doctors and scientists before her must've experienced when it came to the human body, and all the glorious things they had learned over the years. All the things the body was capable of…

Martha got a bit lost in her thoughts and decided to pay attention to what was happening in the room.

The Doctor had taken the most recent blood samples they'd collected out of storage and set them up alongside a microscope. He took out his sonic screwdriver and aimed it at the microscope; the eerie whirring sound made Doctor Lloyd's brow furrow with fascination as he watched The Doctor at work.

"What sort of device is that?" he asked, his eyes fixed on it.

"Something that I'm hoping will help us get a closer look at our little friends…" The Doctor murmured, his tongue sticking out over his lip as he worked. Lloyd looked puzzled at the phrase "little friends" but didn't speak again as they watched The Doctor.

He sonicked the microscope for at least a minute until he was satisfied, then picked up one of the test tubes filled with blood. "Now, then…" he squinted at the name card taped to the tube. "Mister Richard Loomis! Let's see what's hiding inside your blood, shall we?"

He stared at the tube for a moment, his eyes concentrating on it intensely behind his glasses. She wondered if he could see into it microscopically as he had told her on the road in front of the GYST House – if using the microscope was just for appearances' sake. Then he uncapped the blood sample and Martha hurried forward to get a slide ready. The Doctor was holding his breath, she could tell. She knew she shouldn't worry about him, but she couldn't help it. She took the tube away from him and set about readying a sample on the slide to place in the microscope, quickly capping it off again. The Doctor nodded his thanks with an almost imperceptible movement.

He took the sample – a circular drop of blood squashed between two small, square glass plates – slid it into place under the microscope, and pulled up a nearby wooden stool to sit down.

He peered at the slide for a long while, his eyebrows peeked to the ceiling. After a couple of minutes, he made a growling noise deep in his throat and sat back, running a hand through his hair and loosening his tie. "Ohh, yes. This blood is loaded with them."

Martha stepped up and The Doctor turned to look at her over his shoulder. She noticed his posture stiffen; he was holding his breath again. She met his gaze. "May I?"

The Doctor shifted the microscope so that she could lean down to examine the slide. She squinted one eye shut and adjusted the focus. The Doctor didn't move away from her; she was effectively leaning over right on top of him. But he wasn't breathing. His stillness (and proximity) distracted her. She refocused on the slide. The many blood cells before her eye's view slipped and slid around like bubbles in a lava lamp – but they looked like any old human blood cells.

"But…" she whispered, turning towards him again, puzzled. She opened her mouth, stopped, then turned to squint down again. "I don't see anything out of the ordinary."

"Brilliant, isn't it?" The Doctor remarked thoughtfully, his eyes narrowing on her face. Then he exhaled, finally, his cool breath caressing her skin. "Now watch this."

The Doctor took out his sonic and aimed it at the slide. He turned it on, adjusting the settings, and then activated it. The tip glowed blue and the familiar high-pitched whir echoed again in the room. Martha leaned in and looked. The cells suddenly expanded and darkened in color, until she barely recognized them anymore. All under the eerie bluish hue of the sonic screwdriver. Once he removed and turned it off, they went right back to looking like normal human cells.

"D'you see now how they work? Cloaking, just like I thought. They're almost perfect photo-organisms, Martha…they're designed specifically for _invasion_. They are perfectly hidden _inside_ the normal human cells and do their worst from there. Once they're in, they assume control of the whole operation. But you won't see it; you won't know it just by looking at them under a normally calibrated microscope. But we can plainly see the physical effect they're having on the patients, like Doctor Lloyd said."

"Sort of like…cancer cells? Really advanced cancer cells." She muttered. He didn't answer, but his eyes gleamed, urging her to continue. "And by control…you mean…" He waited. "Of course. They assume the form of the host, until the transmutation process starts. So your sonic just did something to trigger them to reveal themselves."

"Very good, Doctor Jones." His eyes sparkled. "You'd think they'd stop there, eh? But oh no. Because you see, the lupine cellular structure is manufactured to create the perfect soldier. Powerful, resilient; impervious to disease, injury, the elements…mix that with the power of human tissue to heal itself…your broken bones mend in a cast, your cuts and scabs close up with a Band-Aid and a spot of ointment…"

"Instead of _de_generating, they _re_generate the tissue, making it stronger and healthier. Like you said back at the Sherriff's station." She finished for him. "That's why all the patients are so healthy…why Mister John and Earl couldn't take it down with bullets. It accelerates our natural healing process."

The Doctor nodded, actually grinning. "It's genius, I have to admit!" At her disparaging look, his smile faded. "Utterly abhorrent, too, of course…"

"I'm sorry, doc, but you lost me…" Morris spoke up.

The Doctor turned to him. Martha had almost forgotten the other two gentlemen were in the room. "In a word, this makes things that much more difficult, Deputy," he paused. "Weelll, that was more than a word, but all the same – what's the time?"

They all turned to squint at the large clock on the wall behind Lloyd.

"Nearly half past eight, why?" Martha answered, turning back to him.

The Doctor puffed out his cheeks, still tucking his sonic into his pocket. "Oh, no reason, just like to be aware of the time at all times. Ooh I like that – 'time at all times' – sort of puts what we do into a bit of perspective, doesn't it Martha?"

"If you say so…"

"I do. Now, Doctor Lloyd, what else can you tell me? Anything else you've observed about the patients, any other strange symptoms?"

Doctor Lloyd took a breath. "Well, there are the dreams…"

Martha frowned and The Doctor quirked an eyebrow.

"What dreams?" Deputy Morris asked, seeing that Martha was about to open her mouth and rightly anticipating what she was on the point of saying.

"There have been several occasions over the last few hours when the patients…" Doctor Lloyd shook his head in mystification, "they seem to be dreaming. They don't wake, but they do speak."

"What do they say?" asked The Doctor gravely.

"Mumblings, mainly…nonsensical mumblings. Silver eyes…and…blood red moons…talk about bonding and strange words that mean nothing…the stuff of fantasy! All at the same time, they just start moaning. Then they lapse into a comatose state again, just like that. We don't know what to make of it."

The Doctor's eyes flashed quickly to Martha's. "Evidence of a telepathic link, I'd say. Wouldn't you agree, Martha?"

Martha straightened up, cottoning on. "Oh, definitely."

"Do you have some experience with this, Doctor Smith?" Lloyd asked. "Have you seen this before? Do _you_ have a theory?"

"Have I seen it before? Not quite, but almost. Do I have a theory? Oh yes, plenty of them. Miles of them; loads in fact." The Doctor waved his hand distractedly, jumping up from the microscope and starting in on his pacing. "One being that they've all been successfully integrated into the wavelength bond, the other being that they all have cloaked lupine sleeper cells oscillating away in their blood streams – ooh, nasty and clever, those lupine cells – a defense mechanism set up by the Haemovariform to keep inquiring minds at bay so they can carry out their mission undetected…"

Doctor Lloyd was looking at him like he'd gone mad, but then Martha fancied she saw his eyes gleam with the same intense _curiosity_ that most people exuded in buckets when The Doctor was talking; herself included.

Martha turned again to The Doctor, and noticed that his eyes kept darting back to the blood samples sitting in vials all around the lab, his brow set in a hard line, despite his casual tone. Her instincts flared up as she watched him stride to one of the windows, unlatch the lock, and fling it open. He took a deep breath of the slight breeze flowing into the room, and stood still for a second.

"Do you mind explaining to me what all of that means?"

The Doctor turned to face Lloyd. Martha's heart skipped a beat. For a fraction of a second she thought she saw the silver light in his eyes. "Doctor Lloyd, you're dealing with something much deadlier than any virus you've ever seen. There is no antidote. There is no cure. The virus will wait, it's patient, and when the right moment comes, without so much as _blinking_ those patients will unleash chaos on this town, and they won't stop. Ever. Until every human within miles of here is infected, too."

Lloyd gaped. "A plague?"

"Worse." The Doctor growled.

"B-but…" Lloyd stuttered. "You said…_lupine_ cells? Genomes of a wolf. How is that possible?"

"Oh, it's possible." The Doctor assured him darkly. "We cannot think in impossibilities anymore. Not if we're going to survive this."

"Doctor…" Martha edged in carefully. "We have time to stop it, don't we?"

The Doctor's intense, fiery gaze faded as he looked to her. He blinked and ran a hand down his face.

"I don't know, Martha…"

Martha tilted her head at him. "What is it?"

He hesitated, clenching his jaw. "Those cells aren't just multiplying, Martha. They aren't just overwhelming the human DNA, they're _mutating_ it. With every moment that passes, they're integrating themselves into the genetic makeup, and the Haemovariform's telepathic hold is getting stronger," he gripped the air with his fingers. All three of them hung on his every word (especially Doctor Lloyd) as his eyebrows arched severely and his eyes grew wide with intensity, "I _can't_ just destroy the signal, and even if I did, I'm not sure we can devise an antidote in time!"

He was truly agitated now. Martha rarely saw The Doctor this wound up; and she knew something was affecting his mood other than his usual overexcited airs. He seemed to have completely forgotten the doctor and deputy sheriff in the room.

Martha walked towards him and placed a hand on his arm. "You'll figure this out. You always do. I'll help." She tried to smile.

He lowered his hand, his fingers releasing his disheveled hair. Her touch seemed to calm him. He looked down at her, his face settling into grim determination. He nodded.

His mouth hovered open, as if he wanted to say more; his eyes glinting at her appreciatively; but then he closed it and looked pointedly at Doctor Lloyd and Deputy Morris.

"Tell you what, Doctor Lloyd! You can help me."

"Oh, well I'm glad to be of use…" the doctor intoned sarcastically.

"Oh yes! You can be, you can be," her Doctor answered distractedly, striding once again to the lab table and ducking to open the shelves below. He rooted around for a few seconds and came up again with his arms full of equipment Martha didn't recognize. "I need to borrow these, if you don't mind."

Lloyd opened his mouth but The Doctor didn't wait for his consent.

"Martha, look in the supply cabinet over in the corner and find me an electrode kit."

Martha hesitated for one second, but eventually moved to do as he asked.

"Wait a minute, what are you doing? You can't just…!" Doctor Lloyd sputtered, watching with wide eyes as The Doctor put his sonic between his teeth and began passing equipment to Deputy Morris to hold for him. He then scooped up the rest of his loot and waited for Martha to find what he'd asked for.

She rooted through the things in the cabinet, fighting her urge to stop and examine the old-fashioned gram scales and reagent bottles and mortar and pestle sets she pushed aside. She finally found a bundle of thin, white electrode tabs, and snatched them out. "Got 'em," she announced turning to face the room.

"Good, let's go," The Doctor said around the screwdriver, hoisting his hoard and jerking his head towards the door. Martha passed Lloyd, who still stood sputtering in futile objection. Morris held he door for her and The Doctor.

"Let's go, doc," he told Lloyd, who finally followed.

They made their way back to the ward with the patients and The Doctor strode through the room, scanning the charts as he went. He spotted a patient at the far side of the room and dumped his equipment on the table next to the man's cot. Martha looked to see that the name on the chart read Richard Loomis, the owner of the blood sample they'd been examining and, according to the doctor's notes, the latest to be attacked.

The Doctor set to work, grabbing bits of equipment and setting them up properly on the table. He removed tools and random things from the inner pockets of his suit jacket (it never ceased to amaze Martha how much stuff he carried around in both his coat and his suit). The nurses were nowhere to be found, and Martha thought they must be in the middle of a shift change.

The Doctor's hands moved quickly, and in a blur of adjustments and measuring and reworking he had two odd-looking devices setting on either side of Richard Loomis, on each end table flanking the head of the cot. He reached for the electrodes and Martha handed them over.

They all watched as The Doctor placed the electrodes along Loomis' temples. He snaked the thin electrode wires upwards to one of the two odd devices he'd made out of random bits of lab equipment and secured them with his sonic, which he'd finally removed from his mouth.

"Martha?" The Doctor called her name, casually, not looking up from his work as the sonic whirred.

"Yeah?"

"Remember how I'm always telling you BMH?"

She scoffed and crossed her arms. "Was just thinking about that, actually."

"Great minds, Jones, great minds…" he finished with the electrodes and checked they were secure. "Anyway, we'll have to break that rule just this once."

Martha was on the point of asking why when The Doctor straightened up and turned around to grin at her. "Bada-boomah! I've just invented the first Electroencephalograph!"

"No you didn't." Martha deadpanned. "That was Hans Berger in 1920." She shrugged. "Medical student, remember? We covered that first term."

The Doctor pouted, but his eyes were gleaming with pleasure. "Party pooper. Alright, so it's not the first, _but_ it _is_ the first sensitive enough to detect Haemovariform wavelengths!"

"Still lost, doc," Morris admitted.

"If I could guess…" Lloyd offered, "it seems you believe the brain activity of Mister Loomis can tell us something about what's happened to him? This extra-sensitive EEG machine will pick up…what did you call them?"

"Haemovariform wavelengths." The Doctor confirmed. "And it _will_ tell us something – a warning, specifically." He sonicked the device and a rotor at the end of it began to turn slowly. Then it picked up speed somewhat. "You see, he's connected – they all are. The bond is in place…waiting. The faster that turns, the stronger the wavelengths, and the stronger the wavelengths, the stronger the bond. It'll help me monitor my progress."

"Okay, so what's that for?" Martha pointed to the other device.

"Ah, glad you asked that Martha." He grinned again, rocking on his trainers. "_That_ is a polarimeter. It's going to help us indentify a chemical compound that will reverse the cell mutation. Remember, both the wavelength and the infection depend on a source of light. In different ways of course, but it's a useful clue. We can use the optic rotation to test the effects of our antidote solutions. "

It was Martha's turn to beam. "Doctor, that's brilliant!"

"I know…" he winked at her. "I'm glad you stopped me getting all negative and whiney – throws off my focus. It's really quite simple, if we put our minds to it."

"But how can _I_ help?" Lloyd nudged impatiently. "These are _my_ patients, I deserve _some_ say in their treatment, don't you agree? I deserve _some_ credit!"

"Oh, absolutely."

"So please give me one good reason to have faith in these…these…_contraptions_ you've thrown together from equipment you pilfered out of my lab! How do I know they even work? How do I know you even have a clue what you're doing?"

Martha bit back a retort. The Doctor handled Lloyd's distrust with ease.

"Oh, we'll have loads to chat about, you and me. Because Doctor Lloyd even though you're clearly clueless about the real danger you and your patients are in, you're also not as daft as you come off, are you?"

"You're insulting me, Doctor Smith?"

"Quite the opposite." The Doctor waited for an answer to his question, and Martha couldn't help wincing at the way he managed to make the poor man look like a total knob in a few breaths.

"I have your word for credit for my work?"

"_Oh_ – full stop, everyone'll hear about it. The Royal Medical Court, British Medical Journal, the Royal College of Physicians, OK Magazine, Cambridge, Oxford; you name it!"

Martha could plainly see that Doctor Lloyd fancied the idea of international recognition, for the covetous gleam in his eyes. She could also plainly tell that The Doctor was winding him up.

"Alright, how can I assist?"

"Good man!" The Doctor exclaimed, and then: "I need you to help me find a cure. Just you, me, and Doctor Jones, here. No one else can know; if this gets out prematurely it'll be chaos. If we can crack this thing together you could be…well, famous. How about it, eh?"

"You said there was no cure."

"Oh…" The Doctor scratched behind his ear. "Didn't I mention? I'm a bit of a genius? No? Well, I am. Only I'm not quite myself at the moment and I've got another matter to concentrate on as well, so all hands on deck! I'll bring my TARDIS in tonight, park her somewhere out of the way, shall I? In the meantime! Seal off this ward, full quarantine with exception of your most discreet staff members. We'll return very soon, Ta for now! "

The Doctor waved dismissively and sauntered briskly out of the room. Martha and Deputy Morris exchanged glances and followed.

"Wait!" called Lloyd, coming out after them. The Doctor paused and turned to frown at him. "I'm afraid I still don't quite understand…what exactly is a…TARDIS? And Huma-veriform? And, forgive me Doctor but if this…this virus or whatever it is only seems to be making them better and stronger, why should we have to 'cure' it? Why shouldn't we just write up a full medical report, you and I, after a few months' testing, and go to the press with it? If it's anything like you said…well this is…enormous!"

The Doctor watched him sternly. "Doctor Lloyd, trust me. This is not a miracle affliction. This is from something way beyond this Earth. I know because it's my duty to know. You've seen my credentials. And…the TARDIS is my transport. I don't have time to explain now. Are you in, or aren't you?"

Lloyd swallowed. Martha watched him doubtfully. She didn't know if she trusted him yet. "I'm…in."

"Gooood…! That's twice you've given your word, can't back out now!" The Doctor smiled approvingly and was turned on his heels again just like that, striding down the hallway. The staff dodged out of their way as they passed through.

Martha hurried to catch The Doctor up, walking quickly along side his long-legged stride. She gave him a face and he looked down at her sideways. "OK Magazine?" She repeated him.

He grinned and winked at her.

"Of course you have no intention of making that man famous with this, Doctor."

"Absolutely not, but I had to get him on board somehow."

"Why do we even _want_ him on board?" Martha inquired, frowning hard. "He's obviously out of his depth. And he seems to only care about credit for a discovery, not helping his patients."

"Doctor Lloyd is a product of his time, but he isn't completely thick. Yes, he is rather ambitious, but what's wrong with ambitious? That ambition will spur him on, make him dedicated."

"And make him greedy – you saw how hesitant he was when Deputy Morris told you're an expert. He didn't want to share.

"Ah, yes, Martha but now he's starting to see that with a rrrreputable expert in obscure diseases on his side, he could really reach his ultimate goal, and faster. His mind will be working double time, and we need him on board because, like I said, this is an all hands on deck situation. Besides which, I knicked the lab logbook while you were all busy checking the time. " He smiled down at her, his hands in his pockets. "That was good wasn't it? Go on, admit it, that was good."

Martha withheld comment for a moment before rolling her eyes and nodding. "Yeah, it was good."

"_Aha_, see?" The Doctor did his pirate grin, eyes all alight and lips peeled back. Martha looked up at him affectionately, actually reaching out to grasp hold of his hand. She suddenly didn't care where they were.

Then Deputy Morris cleared his throat as they made their way towards the exit, past the head nurse with the beady, judgmental eyes. "So, is there somethin' you got in mind for _me_, Doc?"

"Yes, as a matter of fact, Deputy. A couple of very specific things." The Doctor turned a corner and froze dead in his tracks. Martha stopped, too, her heart turning over in her chest.

Deputy Morris caught them up, peering at The Doctor questionably. "You were saying? Doc…?"

The Doctor was staring at the stretch of hall that led to the double exit doors, but he wasn't seeing them. He lifted his chin a little, and slowly turned his head. Martha watched him carefully, knowing instinctively that something was very wrong.

She could see something burning in his eyes. His whole body was stiff as a board; she could see his muscles taught with tension even under the fabric of his suit. "Doctor…" she said gently.

His lips were parted, still peeled back from his teeth, though this time he wasn't grinning. He was grimacing. His hands were clenched into tight fists.

"What is it?" Morris demanded.

Then just like that, The Doctor relaxed. "Nothing. Let's go."

He moved on slowly – very cautiously, it looked like to Martha. The spring in his step from moments before now a rigid gait. And then Martha smelled it, too. The metallic smell of fresh blood, coming from behind a curtained off examination room.

Martha could see that Morris really wanted to ask what the hell that was all about, but she went along, pretending that it was just as much a part of her friend's already strange personality.

But, no. This was a whole new side of The Doctor. He was agitated and even more unpredictable than usual. He was…well…dangerous. For she could plainly see that he was keeping himself firmly rooted to the spot until he could get control of himself; that he was quite literally _fighting_ not to lurch away towards that smell.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor threw the double doors open and breathed in large lung fills of humid Mississippi air. With it came the scent of jasmine, grass, soot, rubber from the tires of the automobiles surrounding him, sweat, concrete, a woman's perfume, and any number of things serving to drive out the tantalizing smell of blood.

He welcomed it.

Martha and Deputy Morris were both watching him. He sauntered down the steps, knowing that his eyes were gleaming, avoiding their gazes until he was completely calm. "Sheriff Downey," he said – because he needed to, and because it was a good distraction.

"What about him?" Morris asked.

"There's something just plain wrong about his death."

"No, shit?" Morris scoffed sarcastically. "What's he got to do with this?"

"Precisely."

The Doctor hesitated for a fraction of a second, until he felt it was safe, until he could feel with absolute certainty that his muscles were his own; that his excited senses had calmed…that his eyes wouldn't belie his façade. Then he faced Martha and the deputy.

He could tell instantly that Martha wasn't fooled. He pressed on.

"What's he got to do with this? I dunno – but I've got a funny feeling. Apart from the fact that it's your duty to uphold the law, Morris, I'd say you should do some more digging into the good Sheriff's affairs and dealings with your mayor because the timing is bothering me."

"The timing?" Martha's eyebrows rose. "You mean, that he killed himself, what, days before this all started?"

"Hmm…" The Doctor nodded.

"Hold on, that's a separate mess altogether. Now, I get that you disapprove of how I'm handlin' it, but I told you I don't need to explain myself to you. It's dangerous, and we got other things to deal with." Morris retorted. "One thing at a time, doc."

The Doctor stepped up to him, his expression grave. "But don't you think it's just too big a coincidence? Deep down, in your gut, can't you feel that these events just _might_ be connect?"

"How?" Morris demanded.

"That's it, I just don't know, but I'm telling you, Deputy, don't turn a blind eye to this one. I told you, I'm very good at guessing. And my guess is that sometimes seemingly unrelated events that go overlooked often turn out to be vitally important."

Morris sighed. The Doctor could see the man knew he was right. He turned to continue his descent of the entranceway steps.

"And another thing, I need you to make sure that if I'm not around Martha has all the access she needs to this hospital. If Head Nurse Tucker or anyone else gets in her way, I can't be held responsible for the consequences."

Before Morris could answer, Martha piped up. "What d'you mean, when you're not around? Where else would you be?"

The Doctor closed his eyes and breathed in deep. He caught more human scent on the air, along with hers, the Deputy's, and Mister John's. He was all pent up from trying to control himself. That open wound he smelled in the hospital had taken him by surprise, giving him a nasty fright. By the look in her eyes, it had frightened Martha too.

Perhaps he had been underestimating just how strong a grip his lupine instinct had over him.

Mister John was climbing out of the backseat of the Lincoln as they approached. Martha ignored him, still waiting for The Doctor's answer.

He glanced at her, but his eyes quickly went back to the edge of the wood visible around a bend down the lane. The town wasn't exactly bustling, but there were humans walking about, hurrying to get to their homes before curfew.

"Lovely night…" he intoned, looking up at the sky. "Good for a run." When he looked back at her, he couldn't help the affect her beautiful, concerned face had on him. "I'm so sorry, Martha. I just wanted you to hear the music, that's all. And maybe a bit of dancing. But…" he shrugged. "Life on the road with me, eh?"

"Doctor-?" Martha started, but he cut her off, turning to walk backwards towards the path to the woods. He smiled at her, shoving his hands in his pockets as he retreated.

"I'll meet you back at the TARDIS, yeah? Go on, Mister John and the Deputy will escort you."

She looked as if she wanted to protest, but he turned his back on them and began a light jog towards the woods.

When The Doctor reached the road that led him into the wilderness, he unbuttoned his suit jacket and ran faster, clearing the entrance in two swift strides. Once he was sure he was out of sight to prying human eyes, he let loose – bolting through the trees. He leapt into one and began a steadfast climb, inhaling the refreshing scent of pine and green leaves. Then he jumped, not falling for a while, and touched down some fifty paces from where he had been. He kept running, feeling the strength mounting in his muscles, feeling a release of the tension he'd been battling all evening. He jumped up and vaulted himself in zigzagging turns off the thick trunks of the trees effortlessly, his mind and senses buzzing.

He felt exhilarated. He was in excellent physical health normally, but now he felt like someone had launched him into warp speed. The Doctor would reach the creek soon, and he planned to leap over it. There was no doubt in his mind that he could.

In the meantime, as he ran, he thought of Martha. How sweet she smelled, how much he wanted her, how mouth-watering she was. He growled and picked up speed, passing startled forest animals in a blur of movement too fast for their slow eyes to really see.

* * *

**P.S. - I can't tell you how awesome it is to see some of you saying that my Ten is spot on. I write him like I remember him from the show, I literally picture his every facial expression, gesture, tone of voice, etc as I write. I mean I know that's dorky, but I can't help it. After all, what is fan fiction but an ode to the characters you love? So, much thanks for that!**


	20. Chapter 20

A/N: My inspiration for this chapter ranged everything from _The Color Purple_ to _True Blood_. Also, the song "Smoke Stack Lightening" is alllll Howlin' Wolf's. Enjoy! Next chapter up very soon - all I have to do is edit it, but as its nearly 2 am right now, I think I'll leave that for tomorrow. Thanks so much for your reviews! Keep 'em coming please : )

* * *

**XX.**

"Where's Hugh?" Homer asked upon sight of Ed.

The men were on their way back through the woods, sweaty, dog tired, and pissed off that their efforts were apparently futile. By the time Ed had found the group again, he'd been gone for over an hour, and he was alone.

He had a nasty face on, his shoulders hunched and stiff with anger, his fists clenched and his jaw set in a hard line. He walked right up to Homer and pulled him aside.

"What's the matter with you, Ed?" Homer grunted, spitting to the ground and eyeing his fellow officer and best friend curiously. "Somethin's got you hot under the collar like I ain't seen in a while."

Ed pushed hot air through his nostrils and growled: "Morris is a goddamned n*****-lovin' _pussy_, that's what!"

The men were pretty spread out, no two of them standing less than ten feet away from another, but they all seemed to take notice of Ed's enraged voice. Homer shifted on his feet and looked around to make sure that none of them were stopping to approach them before he pulled Ed by the shoulder to a nearby cluster of trees.

"_Keep your voice down_, you don't wanna go bad-mouthin' your superior in public!" he hissed as Ed harshly jerked away from his touch.

Ed shook his head, pacing in a small circle in front of a particularly thick tree. "He ain't my superior, he never was. He's a soft-bellied coward! He ain't got the balls to stand up to some skinny Limey and his filthy black bitch, and he _ain't_ got no business takin' Sheriff Downey's place!"

Homer's eyes widened in surprise. "What the hell are you talkin' about, Ed? What Limey?"

"That fancy pants Brit Doctor he's been lookin' for. You shoulda heard the things he said, Homer – he knows _exactly_ what's goin' on here." Ed seemed to have calmed down somewhat; now his eyes were the picture of cold determination as he regarded his best friend. He leaned in, his face enveloped in shadow, and gritted resolutely: "We gotta do something about them. We gotta warm the Mayor. Or maybe we should take them both out…just like we did the Sheriff."

Homer felt white heat explode across his temples at the mention of what they had done to Sheriff Downey. Ed was his best friend, but he was dumb as a lump of coal sometimes, especially when he was angry. Homer's eyes darted around to make sure the rest of the search gang were still out of earshot, then gathered his patience and said between very short, furious breaths: "I told you – _never_ mention that in public, boy!"

"Ain't you listenin' to me? Hugh's _helpin'_ him, goddamn it!" Ed hissed heatedly. "This ain't good. Not at all."

"Look, we can't just go killin' people off willy-nilly like that," Homer insisted, trying to reason with his friend. "We gotta think this thing through, Ed."

Ed opened his mouth to answer, but something stopped him. Flashlight signals were going off from several of the hunting party, the sweeping lights hitting the two officer's vision harshly.

Homer reached for his gun. The two men looked at each other in the dark, a silent understanding passing between them. They would continue discussing this later. It was show time. Homer led the way towards the other men, who were starting to shout in harsh hisses at each other, flashlights darting this way and that.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor leapt the trees.

Strange thing to be doing. And _good fun_.

This power he felt rushing through him – he knew it was dangerous. He could feel animal instinct coiling and uncoiling within him, and it drove him forward faster and stronger. As a Time Lord, he understood what it was like to be slightly faster than humans; to have a slight advantage over them because of his binary vascular system, superior reflexes, hyper-sensitive taste buds and olfactory senses, blah, blah, blah…

This was something _entirely_ different.

The night opened up to him; all her secrets glowed in the dark, every sound and every shadow was known to him as he propelled himself through the trees. Jumping; swinging; striding effortlessly…his chase of the first wolf to the trains was nothing compared to what fun he was having now!

His lips peeled back in an excited snarl - his eyes; keen and sharp; darting this way and that. He let it all go and gave in to his basest instincts; the instincts that the venom of an intergalactic werewolf planted within his Time Lord body.

Then the smell of humans wafted toward him on the air. And he could see the lights and hear the earth being crushed under their boots. He smelled their sweat and their breath and…their blood.

The Doctor slowed to a halt, breathing it in.

Every muscle in his body longed to strike.

But he was not in wolf form. He looked up at the moon, knowing what he would find.

Shamefully, he almost found himself wishing that there _was_ no shadow; only a full, bright moon…

_Get a grip, Doctor_…he scolded himself.

_Strike, and join us!_

"Not you again," he muttered, feeling the slinking touch of the Haemovariform reaching out for him.

_You are letting us in…you are embracing your new nature. Their blood will seal the bond._

The Doctor stepped back, into shadow, glaring at the approaching torchlights. The men were grumbling to themselves, their muttering voices an intruding chorus to his sharp hearing. He tuned them out.

He began to think, ignoring the incessant itch that was starting to build and spread within him.

How could he possibly want to…drink human blood? He was still himself, as Martha had said. He was still The Doctor.

_You cannot escape your nature. __**Our**__ nature._

"Why…?" He thought hard, sifting through the haze of bloodlust. Why was he feeling it so strongly?

_You are not like the humans, Time Lord. They must sleep. You will be of great use to us._

The Doctor found it – in the dark. The answer. He was awake!

The Haemovariform hadn't used humans until now. But they were clever. They must've used the same (though more advanced) methods in their breeding colonies on Krumas. The coma-link served as a telepathic incubator of sorts to control the human/lupine soldiers until they were 'ripe', as it were.

But not The Doctor. Being a Time Lord, naturally he had fought his way up through the telepathic lockdown and woke from his "coma" because his mind was stronger and better equipped to protect itself against intruders. The price for his escape from the bond: the premature mixing and mingling of lupine instinct with Time Lord intelligence. His moods were more unstable; his bloodlust and acute senses unchecked. And he was conscious for all of it. For him, giving in to these animal instincts – actually attacking a human – _could_ actually seal the bond. Bingo!

_Bingo..?_ Horrible word. Anyhow…

If any of those humans could be up and walking around now, they would probably think they were going mad. They would balk at the heightened senses; simultaneously crave and be sickened by the mouthwatering smell of blood; and feel insane at the intrusive, hissing voice of the Haemovariform.

They might even attack people, not understanding what was happening to them. But they wouldn't change; and by the time they did they'd be completely crazed.

So they slept. Their unconscious minds were more easily wired into the wavelength bond that way; their bodies being conditioned for the change, so that when they woke their mission was clear and their actions precise.

Clever, clever beasties, those Haemovariform!

"Hey!"

Whoops.

The humans had spotted him. He grinned politely, shoving his hands into his pockets and stepping out from the shadows. "Hello."

"Who the hell are you?" One of the burly men spat, raising his gun and his torch. He was surrounded by his friends; about a dozen identically wary-looking, gun-hoisting chaps. _What was it_ about the Deep South and guns?

"Where's that nice Officer Ed What's-His-Face? He knows who the hell I am."

The man who spoke ignored The Doctor's request for Officer Ed. He squinted hard at The Doctor. "What the hell are ya doing sneakin' around in these woods with a killer animal on the loose?"

"I was looking for you chaps, obviously!" The Doctor lied smoothly. "Or rather, Deputy Morris is. He had a – thing – to take care of, so he sent me ahead to catch you up," he cleared his throat and gestured at nothing in particular.

"That so?" came a familiar voice. The Doctor saw Ed approaching with another bloke, whom The Doctor had a feeling was Homer Pike; their guns raised. Ed still wore the same mask of obtuse anger as their last encounter.

"Hello again, Officer. Still in a sour mood, I see." He eyed Ed's gun disapprovingly.

"This man says he knows you, Ed," said the spokesman for the hunting mob over his shoulder. "Says the Deputy sent him."

Ed stared at The Doctor. "You're out past curfew."

"So are you…" The Doctor uttered, raising his eyebrows; his expression mischievous. Then he grinned again, sort of loving how his every word seemed to visibly get under this Ed fellow's skin. As agitated as he was still, he couldn't help egging the thick-headed bloke on. "That's what I came to tell you. Deputy Morris says it's time to pack it in; come on back to headquarters, or…go home to your wives…or…" he looked around at the state of them and changed his tune, "…your chickens…?"

Ed practically had steam coming out of his ears.

"I love a good chicken coup, don't you?"

"I don't take orders from Limeys. I suggest you get the hell outta here," Ed growled, stepping right up to The Doctor and getting in his face. "Deputy ain't here to save your ass, and I ain't nearly done with you yet."

"Is that so?" The Doctor replied, his muscles tensing and his gaze hardening. He could smell the thick, boiling, salty-sweet blood flowing through this man's body. He could hear the heartbeat. He smelled alcohol, cigarettes, harsh chemical soap, musky cologne, creek water and…fear. He was itching for a fight. Totally unlike him, and yet it felt natural…it felt good. But he could _not_ succumb to that.

Ed nodded. "Yeah, that's so. You got no idea what you're dealing with. I got your number, boy."

"And I've got yours." The Doctor paused, looking off to the trees; grateful to catch a whiff of fresh air from a slight breeze. "_Wellll_ – not quite yet. But I will. Because, trust me, I _do_ know what we're dealing with. And it's something none of you are at all equipped to handle without me. Deputy Morris seems to be the only one clever enough to realize that."

"Get on back where you came from, mister," Homer barked, cutting off Ed's retort. "Your n****r gal will be wonderin' where you got off to."

The Doctor turned his gaze sharply to Homer, a powerful urge to physically harm him boiling forth. _No, no…no violence. No giving in_, he scolded himself.

"I'm sorry, I don't know any of those. But I _do_ know a young woman who's got more heart, bravery, and intelligence in her baby _finger_ than you have in your _entire body!_" He snapped, his eyes blazing.

Thinking of Martha, he made an effort to calm down, else he'd give himself away.

"And you're right – she will be missing me. I can't think of any other person I'd rather be around right now; certainly not you lot. Anyhow, better be off! Have a good night, gentlemen."

He strode confidently through the crowd, feeling their cagey eyes on him as he went.

Then he disappeared. Their human eyes would miss when it happened; he simply slipped into shadow. He saw the lights of their torches swinging around through the trees, but they wouldn't find him. The Doctor readied himself, and once he'd gone far enough where they wouldn't see, he broke into a sprint through the trees.

Once he reached the creek he leapt without hesitation.

As he soared in the air, Ed's words came back to him: _you got no idea what you're dealing with._

When people said things like that, it meant they knew something the other person didn't. But how could he possibly? That was laughable. Or was it? The dead Sheriff, the dim witted Officer, the corrupted Mayor…something about those three bugged him.

He landed soundlessly on the other side of the creek and stepped lightly up onto the steep bank. He would work it out, in due time. For now he needed to meet Martha and get to work on _somehow_ finding a cure for this pesky werewolf outbreak.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

**Day 1.**

Doctor William Lloyd paced anxiously in the dimly lit boiler room of the County Hospital, his white coat swaying with his movements. He wrung his hands, muttering under his breath.

This was plum foolishness. This was crazy!

The previous night, when The Doctor had returned and asked him if the hospital had any hidden, out of the way places where people hardly ever ventured, his first thought had been the boiler room. No one came down here, aside from the custodial staff, and that was usually only if there was a malfunction or emergency. The last time he could think of had been the blackout a few months ago in the east wing, where the psych patients were kept. The Doctor had beamed and exclaimed _'perfect!'_ so William had slipped away during the shift change this morning, come all the way down here, and was now waiting for Doctor Smith and Martha Jones to arrive.

"You must be there at precisely twelve past six," the Brit had instructed.

"But, I don't understand. Why is that necessary?" William had still been skeptical and confused.

The Doctor shrugged. "Easier for her to land properly. You see it's much trickier traveling such short distances. We could be off by days, weeks, months…_years_, even. That's no good, is it?" William had watched as the man gestured at nothing, not having a clue what he was rattling about. "But not to worry – we've just set an established event. From this moment on, history knows that you came to wait for me in the boiler room on 30th May, 1939 at twelve past six in the morning. She'll be able to lock onto those coordinates, see?"

"No…I don't see. And who is _she?_ Miss Jones?"

"Er…best if we leave it there, eh? See you bright and early!"

William checked his watch. It was now precisely 6:12am to the second. No sign of The Doctor or Miss Jones. He was on the verge of forgetting this whole thing and going to start his rounds when he felt a slight breeze disturb his hair. He frowned and looked around him. He was near a brick wall, surrounded by heavy, black and red piping. There were no windows, and the only doors led upwards, onto the bottom floor of the hospital.

The breeze that was seemingly coming from out of nowhere began to pick up, steadily increasing until it was a strong gust of wind. And with it, a strange noise filled the air around him. It was faint at first, but gradually got stronger and louder.

It was a strange grinding, wheezing sound. William had never heard anything like it in his life.

He turned around in a circle, trying to find the source of the noise and wind, until he was facing the brick wall again. And then he began to see something there, something fading into existence right before his eyes. His jaw dropped and he stepped back, suddenly filled to the brim with alarm.

But he remained rooted to the spot, gazing transfixed at the sight of something blinking into existence from thin air. The grinding noise gradually came to a wheezing, rasping halt.

As it did, there was suddenly a big blue 'Police Call Box' sitting in the boiler room against the brick wall.

William opened and closed his eyes, thinking they'd surely throw him into the psych ward now.

It was there, alright. Solid and real and very blue.

The door creaked open suddenly, and The Doctor stepped out. He was wearing the same clothes as the night before – his glasses were even perched at the end of his nose in exactly the same position as when William had spoken to him at nearly eleven o'clock the previous evening.

He beamed at William and bounded up to him, oblivious to the other doctor's bewildered expression.

"Good morning, Doctor Lloyd! Let's get to work, shall we?"

"Erm…he might need a minute, Doctor," it was Martha Jones who spoke now. Her petit frame had been hidden behind The Doctor's, but she stepped around him and was now gazing at William knowingly. She too was wearing exactly the same clothes. "Think the sight of the TARDIS materializing gave him a bit of a shock."

The Doctor frowned. "Ah – right. Sorry about that."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

**Day 3.**

Martha wiped a bead of sweat away from her brow.

The facilities here were hard to work in. Central air conditioning wasn't on the menu these days, and the ceiling fans only pushed the hot air around. Her eyes were burning with fatigue. She'd been looking at slides, studying almanacs, and mixing chemicals for hours and hours the last three days. She was beginning to resent the polarimeter The Doctor made, and it hadn't even been a week.

So far, nothing they constructed matched the measurements he'd given them (an exact point in the optic rotation that would identify the chemical compound that could reverse the transmutation process). Martha wasn't naive enough to believe they'd hit the mark in only a few tries, but these failures made her think of the (potentially) long road ahead, and she had to stop herself from despairing that they wouldn't find the right combination in time.

She looked up from her work, at Doctor Lloyd, who was also hunched over a microscope, scribbling notes as he went. She watched him thoughtfully. At first, she had thought him a narrow minded, potentially racist, ambitious man with little redeeming qualities.

But having spent these last few days with him, Martha was steadily coming to the conclusion that he was actually a bit of a Southern gentleman. At least, that's the way he carried himself around her now.

He escorted her through the hospital when she arrived, lunched with her in the afternoons and dined with her in the evenings. Usually these meals were taken in the lab, but he always paid and he always stayed.

Once, when she'd finished explaining her findings on a bit of research she'd done, he had looked at her, as if pleasantly surprised and pleased, and said: "You are quite intelligent for a woman, let alone a Negro!"

Martha didn't really know how to respond. At first she thought of being upset, but in the end she simply said "I'm quite intelligent for _anyone_; my race and gender have nothing to do with it" and carried on. He frowned, and she knew that he was aware he'd said something offensive. Later he apologized, and purely because it looked like it took a lot for him to do so, she forgave him, knowing that he meant it.

They talked about their upbringings, his medical school days, his family (brothers and a sister, of which he was the eldest) and she talked of hers. He was curious about The Doctor, and the TARDIS. She didn't tell him much; just enough to satisfy practical questions such as how they'd managed to materialize out of nowhere and a few tidbits about how they'd really ended up in Mississippi.

The Doctor worked with them as well, but only during the day…at night he disappeared.

Martha knew it was difficult for him being in the hospital. He told her of his realization that if he did attack someone he risked giving in to the bond. They didn't speak of the stolen kisses; they merely concentrated on their work. But working side by side in such tense, isolated conditions were beginning to take their toll on Martha. She couldn't help feeling immensely curious about his state of mind. He seemed more agitated than normal; impatient and antsy like she'd never seen him.

Sometimes, even in the light, his eyes gleamed (he was always quick to hide it from Doctor Lloyd).

Sometimes she caught him gazing at her; those crescent moons shimmering just below the surface of his brown eyes. Sometimes she noticed him holding his breath when she was too near. And then _sometimes_…oddly…she felt that when they stood close to each other he turned his head where she couldn't see and…inhaled her scent. But it was just her imagination. Still, the slight fluttering in her hair – as if a butterfly had landed and ghosted away again before she caught the sensation fully – occurred a little too often for her to forget about it.

They studied the lupine cells – The Doctor only letting on that he could see them without a microscope when Lloyd wasn't around.

Lloyd, for his part, was cooperative and insightful, as The Doctor had predicted.

His Southern twang was smooth and gentlemanly, Martha finally noticed. He opened doors for her and said polite things like "begging your pardon" and "if you'll permit me, Miss Jones". He didn't tolerate the stares she got from the staff members. Head Nurse Tucker seemed quite upset with him, but he paid her no heed.

He listened to The Doctor, and he stayed round working the long hours asked of him without complaint.

The Doctor slept in the TARDIS (at least he _said_ he did, but Martha wondered…) while Martha went back to the GYST House these last couple of nights.

She had a feeling The Doctor was purposefully keeping his distance from her – from all humans.

She worried for him. But Sweet Mama reassured her. She fed her, told her stories, sympathized with her. Even the men boarding in the house seemed to be accepting her. They played cards. Chester 'Howlin Wolf' played his guitar and sang for her. She and Mister John danced.

"What do you say we give this one a try, Miss Jones?" Lloyd interrupted her thoughts, looking up from his work.

She smiled faintly at him. "Alright."

They took his compound into the ward where the patients slept, the same as they had been the night she first saw them – the same as they'd been these last three days.

They went to Richard Loomis' bed. They took some of his blood. The wound healed almost instantly. They mixed the blood and the compound and positioned it inside the compartment in the polarimeter.

They turned the dials. No match. And the lever on the EEG turned steadily.

"Well…" sighed Doctor Lloyd.

"Well." Martha muttered; she was disappointed, exhausted, and worried.

Where was The Doctor?

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

**Day 5.**

The Doctor ran.

During the days, working in the laboratory, he found himself agitated and unfocused. The smell of blood was a nuisance that he could not escape. Besides which he was beginning to despair. Unlike him, but he could not help himself. He could see the cells; their makeup was impossibly complex. The cloning made it increasingly difficult to pinpoint a pattern that would help them map out an antidote. They were experts at hiding.

The Haemovariform taunted him; whispering in his mind when his fatigue weakened his mental defenses.

And Martha…

She worked; dedicated herself to finding a cure for the humans – for him.

Her skin glowed in the sunlight. Her smell was sweet and intoxicating.

Her eyes were keen; intelligent; determined.

When they were working together it was as if it was only the two of them in the room. They worked so well together, she instinctively understanding what he needed from her and he enjoying her curiosity and intuitiveness. She was fascinated by the subject matter, he could tell, and she ought to have been. He was certain she'd make a brilliant doctor one day.

He fought like crazy not to repeat the mistake he made when he first woke. Still, sometimes (even though it was more like a blow to the gut than an indulgence) he leaned in when she wasn't looking…smelled her hair. Like a madman. He _felt_ like a madman. Like a dangerous, sneaky madman.

So he ran.

Every night, he left the labs, and sprinted through the trees. Outrunning his feelings was the only way he could cope.

He could not think straight. He was over nine hundred years old. He had lived, and lived, and _lived_. He had seen and done; and seen and done; and seen _again_. But Martha made him feel like a fidgeting teenager grappling with a monster crush sometimes.

He was a master of self-control. But he was also a Time Lord possessed.

She tried to help him as best she could. She worked with the blood in his stead, but she could not control his confused instincts. She kept watch over him. His 'symptoms' were worsening as the days progressed, as he knew they would. He was ravenously hungry; his moods were volatile; his concentration unpredictable. His mind working to simultaneously block out the Haemovariform and work out the puzzle of the "virus".

In better days, his head was so full of facts and historic events and people and places, galaxies and suns and constellations, names and dates and useless trivia, literature and music, buried memories and maps and space/time coordinates – he had simply been used to having to give himself a konk on the head to pinpoint the right bit of information at the right time. But now…it was as if it was all hidden behind a thick cloud of smoke. A swirling misdirection. The Haemovariform were not giving him up without a fight.

He _hated_ feeling useless.

So he ran.

To escape the hospital. To escape his bloodlust. To escape her.

Martha never asked him where he went nights. But he could see it in her big brown eyes. Her concern.

He ran away from that, too.

Even if he wasn't fighting this thing inside him, he would probably run from her, in one way or another. He'd been doing it since he met her – running away yet simultaneously wishing for her to come closer.

Tonight, he returned to the TARDIS, his eyes shining, having circled the entire woodland cutting across the two towns. Martha was waiting for him in the console room, a borrowed white lab coat on, her arms crossed.

"We're not making any progress," she uttered as he rested against the closed TARDIS doors.

He sighed. "I know."

"Where have you been?" she asked him, her voice diminutive. "We need you."

"I _know_," he clenched his jaw. "I'm trying, Martha, I just…it's getting worse."

She observed him. His gleaming eyes. "What can I do?" she asked resolutely, squaring her chin.

He swallowed and took several slow, lengthy strides towards where she stood near the console. He paused before her, and she stood with her face tilted up towards his. Her eyes were brimming over with concern and determination. The Doctor reached up and lightly ran his thumb across her warm cheek. But that was all he allowed himself. He curled his fingers and dropped his hand.

"Nothing." He muttered, lowering his gaze and shoving both hands in his pockets to keep himself from seeking to touch any further. "We keep trying, and I keep dealing with the Haemovariform. I'll figure it out, Martha. I promise."

"I know you will," she answered, placing a hand on his shoulder. "I trust you."

Martha paused. He heard her heart flutter for just a moment before she stood up on her tiptoes and gave him a swift, soft kiss on the cheek. Then she walked past him, down the ramp, and out of the TARDIS. The Doctor closed his eyes.

When he knew she was gone, he whispered: "I'm afraid I might let us down this time…"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

**Day 7.**

The sun beat down on them. Martha could hear the crickets chirping in the trees surrounding the rickety cemetery. Almost as if they were sitting on her shoulder. She'd borrowed a black dress from the TARDIS closet (more like a maze with levels upon levels of racks filled with garments) that was most appropriate for the time period and occasion.

Lenny's body wasn't there, so they buried a few of his things. They didn't have much money, so the coffins were made of the cheapest pinewood; the headstones flat and modest.

The Doctor stood on her right; Sweet Mama and Mister John on her left. Mister John wore a modest black suit and tie, which looked as if he'd owned them for a very long time and only brought out on somber occasions such as this. But, in this time period, Martha had a hunch that somber occasions were often. The Doctor wore his black Converse and his tux, minus the bowtie.

The crickets chirped loudly.

The pastor read a passage, then one by one, the boarders of the GYST House said their goodbyes. Sweet Mama sang a spiritual, with help from some ladies who belonged to the church choir. Mister John whispered words only meant for himself and the dead.

Percy was put underground first. Then Fletch. Then Lenny's belongings.

His brothers wept.

The Doctor's face remained stonily still. He kept his hands in his pockets and his eyes fixed on some point in space that Martha couldn't see. She felt tears pushing at her eyes, but they didn't fall. Death…in all its macabre glory…had touched their lives before. The Doctor's perhaps more than any single person in the congregation. And Martha's...in the patients she tended to before she met him…and in all the things she'd seen and experienced since.

Chester brought his guitar. He strummed beautiful somber chords, and sang softly. Manny played his harmonica, adding a haunting majesty to the tune that affected Martha deeply. She found her sense of the present intensified, listening to them. She thought it ironic – The Doctor had brought her here for the music. And there was music. Somehow, though, she doubted this was what he had in mind.

When it was over, Martha gave Mister John, Buster, and Earl long, tight hugs. They went back to the GYST House and the whiskey and cigarettes appeared almost as soon as they walked in the door. The Doctor went straight for the marmalade. Chester played, and Mister John asked Martha for a dance.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor watched as Mister John danced slowly with Martha.

His Martha.

_Nooo, not yours at all_, he thought bitterly. _Far from yours._ _You've given her absolutely no reason to understand how you feel about her. No reason to trust that she's anything but a temporary distraction from thoughts of Rose…and that black, black day…the Void…and your cold, cold anger that she is gone forever, never to be seen again._

"But you will…" he had smelled her pleasant scent, but her voice still jarred him from his thoughts. "You want to."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed at the couple dancing in the foyer before he turned to look at Sweet Mama. She was gazing at him kindly, her smile a confident one. He immensely disliked being around people with telepathic abilities sometimes. He knew what they were up to, even if they didn't know themselves. He disliked them grasping any inkling of his feelings unless he wanted them to. He did not want Sweet Mama to grasp his feelings; understand him; know him. To know him was to have power over him. Rose had that power; or she was starting to. He thought himself a monster for sometimes feeling relieved she never knew him so deeply that he ceased to be The Doctor and became…

"Chrístõ?" gasped Sweet Mama, clutching her heart.

The Doctor raised a finger at her forbiddingly. "Just…stop that right now. And don't ever say that name again."

She didn't falter. Instead she approached him in the hot little kitchen, her worn old hands raised to him. He stiffened, wanting to turn and run but holding fast to the spot for her sheer determination. She touched either side of his narrow face, smiling up at him, resembling so many grandmothers. He stood a petulant child, resenting her. No human could reach him like this – or at least, not in a very, very long time.

"Why do you resist?" she asked tenderly. "Why do you deny yourself that sweet child's love?"

He shook his head stiffly. "You cannot grasp-"

"Oh, boy I been livin' a long time. Seen many things. I ain't as worn out as I look and I got the good Lord on my side. Try me."

He narrowed his eyes at her, setting his jaw. "Alright," he grit his teeth, stepping away from her touch and circling her to snatch out a chair at the kitchen table. He sat himself down, slammed the marmalade jar down, and tapped the tabletop harshly, indicating that she should sit too. "Go ahead, have a go. Try your hardest, I'm an open book – _you get one chance_, and then you stop this right now, yes?"

Sweet Mama gazed at himthoughtfully and nodded.

He glared at her as she sat down across from him and reached out for his hands. He didn't relent for a moment, warning her with his eyes that he was not pleased, and that she would only have one chance before he would gladly nip this ridiculous invasion of his private emotions in the bud.

The Doctor placed his hands in hers.

Sweet Mama closed her eyes and so did he.

There was silence between them; the only sounds those wafting in from the men and their somber talk. Howlin' Wolf and his guitar.

Then all dropped away and they were traveling. Through time, through space…millions of light years away.

And suddenly The Doctor was lying on the slopes of Mount Perdition. He flinched, but Sweet Mama's grip was firm. The burnt orange sky loomed above him, and the field in which he lay was a deep red glistening in the waning southern sunlight.

_This was your home_…she spoke, though her mouth did not move.

_Yes_…he answered, his hearts thundering with the pain of the memory.

And then the field was on fire, and he was no longer lounging but running. Screams surrounded him, but he did not look back. Flame and smoke engulfed the mountain; he could not see, he could not think, he could not feel – but run.

And he realized that this was a dream – a dream he had sometimes. Of actually being there; witnessing the destruction from the ground, hearing the screams, seeing the flames, and then…nothing. Silence. Black. Gallifrey and all of its people gone in the abyss. He alone, the witness; the survivor. The destroyer.

Now he was standing in a modest cabin home, in the year 1913, asking Joan Redfern to travel with him.

The pain in her eyes cut through him – he knew such loss. He had orchestrated it. His guilt propelled the words from his mouth and he longed for them to be true, that he could try to be everything to her that John Smith had been. But the truth was he could not. Never. The Time Lord who knew family, love, a home…could never exist again after what he'd done.

_This is my punishment_, he told Sweet Mama without speaking. _This is my penance. I took so many, many lives…and I repay the debt with my own. I cannot fit, I cannot stay, and I can __**never**__ stop._

_Look further, boy_…she urged. _Remember…remember what that heartbroken woman had the courage to tell you…_

He didn't want to. But he did.

Joan stood gazing up at him, her eyes so haunted and full of sorrow, and she shook her head at him as though she pitied him. "There's only one thing I want from you…" she whispered, her tears threatening to spill forth.

"Name it," he replied without hesitation.

"That girl…Martha? She…" and she faltered, closing her eyes briefly to gather herself. When she continued her voice had been stronger, more determined not to give him the chance of seeing her weep. "She loves you. I've always known it. The way she would look at…at John." It was hard for her to say his name. "She watched over you, protected you…and killed an innocent man, the man I loved – _for you_. How hard must that have been for her? All alone with everyone against her?"

He lowered his gaze to his shoes, swallowing hard. Martha…he could only hope to one day repay her for all he'd put her through. And yes…she loved him.

…_he's just __**everything**__ to me and he doesn't even look at me, but I don't care. Because I love him to bits…_

"If you…really wish to honor John's memory…to leave me with some form of peace…don't throw that girl away. If you do, you really are a monster. And a coward. You're no more John Smith than that horrible family he gave his life to save us from." She turned away from him then, ending it. "You can go."

_You always runnin'. You always hidin'! _Sweet Mama searched him, making him more and more uneasy the deeper she looked. He fortified his defenses against the Haemovariform as she probed, showing him sorrows and regrets he spent most of his time trying to avoid thinking about.

Rose, and Jane, and Romana…his family, his children…his home…all gone. Because of him.

"That's enough." The Doctor said aloud, his eyes snapping open as he pulled his hands away.

Her eyes remained closed, and he knew she was still having residual visions from his memories. "You always feel so alone, but you ain't, child. All those that love you, and you always hidin' from 'em. Never givin' yourself permission to love back. Why?"

"Because I'll ruin it!" He snapped. "I am not life! I am death and danger and darkness and solitude! Rose paid for loving me – ohhh, she paid dearly – along with everyone else! I _won't_ curse Martha, too…"

He stood up from the table, knocking the chair to the floor, agitated and angry. Sweet Mama's eyes snapped open and she swooned for a moment, shaking away the deep telepathic link they'd just shared.

"That ain't for you to decide, don't you see?" She stood up from the table, her hands lay flat on the surface, and gazed at him. "Love ain't somethin' you _control_, somethin' you smother up until it dies away!"

She brought her hands together in the sign of prayer.

"There's something…dark inside you, Doctor. Something feeding off all that sorrow and pain. When that moon turns full, it's gonna rip its way outta you and not even _your_ great mind will be able to resist it for long. You hear?"

He took a deep breath, all the various scents floating through the house hitting him at once. "What does any of this have to do with Martha?"

"You need an anchor. You need a light, somthin' you can see while you lost in that long, dark maze you built around yourself. Somethin' to pull you back to the livin'." She paused. "You love her?"

He grit his teeth. "Stop it!" She didn't relent. He shrugged helplessly, his eyes large and vulnerable. "Yes."

Her satisfied smile did little to improve his mood. "Then _love_ her. And you'll see how it changes things."

"Humans…" The Doctor sighed and shoved his hands in his pockets, shaking his head in mystification at the elderly woman. "There's an imminent werewolf attack and the possible end of the world as you know it just around the corner – and you're busy playing matchmaker…!"

She laughed and came around the table to offer him a big bear hug. He accepted it, allowing her to pat him on the cheek.

Then he looked down at her seriously. "I meant what I said, Sweet Mama. You cannot ever say that name again. To know it…to know _me_…no good can come of it."

She sighed. "When are you gonna learn, boy?" At his unrelenting look she nodded her agreement. "I understand. There are forces in this world itchin' to know you, Doctor. And not all of them are good. Especially not what's lurking around in you right now. I won't say it again. You got my word, hand to God."

He smiled wearily. "Thank you."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

**Day 11**

Martha dragged herself out of the hospital, having worked for fourteen hours straight today, and found Mister John sitting in his carriage outside, waiting for her as usual.

She smiled wearily at him and allowed him to help her up onto the front seat next to him. "Any progress?' he asked as he cracked his reigns and the horse got moving.

She shook her head dejectedly, her posture somewhat slumpy. "None at all. Nothing we've tried so far has any effect whatsoever. And the EEG is spinning faster and faster…."

They trotted along, staying on the side of the road to let the automobiles pass them. "I know you and The Doctor will figure things out."

"I hope you're right," she sighed as they made the turn to the by now familiar bridge path.

He nudged her with his shoulder. "What do ya say we forget about all this darkness for one night, Miss Martha?"

"What'd you have in mind? I could use a stiff drink, if that's on the menu."

He chuckled throatily. "You ain't lyin' there. How 'bout a drink and a dance?"

Martha smiled softly at him. "Of course…I look forward to that part of the evening, you know."

It was true. Over the last ten days, they had established a comfortable, sweet routine. As John got closer to his son, he shared his feelings about it with her during a dance. It was her time to unwind, and for those few minutes in his strong arms, she let go of her anxiety over this mess they were in – and her worry for The Doctor.

"Me, too." He stared ahead at the road, urging his horse along, but she could tell (even in the dark) that he would blush if he could. "But I was thinkin' somethin' a little more fun."

Martha quirked an eyebrow. "More fun? Like what?"

"Well, Miss Lucille just blew into town on the Memphis train today."

"_Lovely_ Lucille?" Martha whistled low. "The one who can 'sing the breeches right off a man'?"

He chuckled again. "That'd be the one. She'll be doin' exactly that down the juke joint tonight. Chester n' the boys are playin' for her. Figured we could get all gussied up and make a night of it."

Martha beamed and wrapped her arms around his neck, throwing him a little off balance. He got the horse under control and hugged her back with one sturdy arm, actually laughing heartily now. "That's brilliant! Oh, thank you! The Doctor promised me a night out when we first arrived, and _of course_ with him things _never_ turn out the way we plan…"

She trailed off, thinking of The Doctor.

Mister John seemed to notice her sudden dip in spirits, but he didn't say anything. Martha forced the thought away, determined not to diminish the thoughtfulness of John's offer. "I haven't got anything to wear."

"Oh, that ain't no thang – Lucille's got trunks full of fine things. She ain't used to seein' nothin' but menfolk and Sweet Mama when she stays at the GYST House – she'll be happy to dress you up."

Martha laughed, her fatigue and distress from the fourteen hours at the hospital melting away somewhat.

"Just don't let her come at you with all that rouge she likes to paint on," he added, reaching over to caress Martha's chin. "You don't need it. You're mighty fine just the way you are, Miss Martha."

Martha felt herself becoming slightly embarrassed and shrugged off his compliment. "Oh, I do alright…"

"You do a damn sight better than alright, woman."

They laughed and talked all the way back to the GYST House. Martha felt excited. A little nervous. But generally thrilled and relieved to have a chance to enjoy herself, even in the midst of all this gory mess.

And she wondered…as she'd done many times over the past few days…where The Doctor was.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Lovely Lucille was indeed quite lovely.

Tall, thin, perfect makeup, gleaming white teeth, wearing the 'finest threads' from New York and Paris. She smelled of jasmine and crooned even when she spoke. She was lounging in the sitting room surrounded by the GYST House men when they arrived, regaling them with boastful tales of her travels, drinking sherry she'd brought from New Orleans.

If Martha were the jealous type, she might feel left out. But she was amused by the way the men doted on Lucille; how even tetchy Charles seemed to melt like butter at the slightest word from the sultry woman.

When they were officially introduced, she took one look at Martha and let out a sharp whistle. "Welllll, looky hear! Aren't you the sweetest-lookin lil thang I done ever seen!" She sashayed up to Martha and circled her, fanning herself with some fancy-looking thing made of what looked like crow's feathers. Martha couldn't help the bemused smile from spreading across her face as she was scrutinized in Sweet Mama's hot little kitchen.

"Gal, you got a rump on you! Oooh, wee, Sweet Mama been feedin' you too much o'that old biscuits and gravy! That's why I had to get myself outta this house, she liked to stuff me to burst!"

"Hush up, Lucille," Sweet Mama chided good-naturedly. "You too skinny, you ask me. You need my biscuits n'gravy like a mule needs water, you skin and bones gal."

Lucille rolled her eyes and swatted her fancy fan at Sweet Mama's back. "Don't pay her no mind. What's your name, honey?"

"Martha. Martha Jones."

"Well, Miss Martha…you come on upstairs with Lucille and let's get you pretty. Menfolk love a good-lookin' woman down at the juke joint." She took Martha by the shoulders and turned her around, winking at Mister John as she ushered Martha out of the kitchen. "John can't keep you all to himself. 'fore you know it, child you'll have a house and five of them fancy automobiles just by shakin' that rump o'yours in one of my dresses!"

"Don't go puttin' on too much o'that rouge you like, Lucille," Mister John warned. "I said let her borrow some clothes, not turn her into a wanton sinner like you."

"Sinners have more fun, John…" Lucille tossed behind her as they left the kitchen.

They went upstairs, where the humid night air permeated the space. Martha watched as Lucille put a record on (one of her own, priceless), and sashayed over to one of her many trunks. She hoisted it onto the bed and flipped open the latches on either side. Her slender fingers were all bedazzled with rings, shining under the yellow-tinted lamp light.

"Sure is a shame about those boys…" she muttered. "I know John is takin' it mighty hard. But we gon' set his sprits right tonight, you'll see. Nothin' like a night at the juke joint to cure what ails ya…Now let's see…" she rifled through a few expensive-looking garments until she found something. Martha craned her neck to see as she lifted it out of the trunk. "Oh yes indeed, this is the one."

Martha stepped forward and reached out to touch the dress. It was a beautiful pearl color, short, loose, with a gorgeous, beaded U neckline. "Oh, it's…just beautiful!" she gasped, touching her mouth and shaking her head. "I can't wear that! It's too gorgeous."

"Gorgeous like you, honey." Lucille winked and swatted at her with the fancy fan. "Trust me, I got plenty more where this came from. You go ahead and slip that on."

Lucille primped herself while Martha awkwardly tried the dress on.

"So…hope you mind me askin' – it's just that I blow in and outta here like the wind; sometimes I need to catch up."

Martha already knew what was on her mind. "John and I aren't together."

Lucille chuckled, capping her lipstick and turning around on the stool in front of her vanity mirror. "Honey, I ain't the jealous type, if that's what's stoppin' you. I know he probably told you about me and him."

Martha smiled. "He did, but…honestly it's not like that."

"That so? You might wanna tell him that. He's sweet on you – I know that man like the back o'my hand."

Martha considered her, frowning. "Well, maybe he is, but he knows that…well, I'm in love with someone else."

Lucille raised an eyebrow. "Oooh…is it Earl? He's a stallion!"

Martha burst into a fit of laugher. "Oh, blimey – no! He's like my little brother!"

Lucile laughed with her. "I like 'em young, child! They last a lot longer and do a _lot_ less complainin', you know what I mean?"

Martha liked Lovely Lucille more and more with every minute that passed. "That's probably true, but I fancy older men." She made a face, a little embarrassed to admit that. If only Lucille knew _how_ old…try 900 years…

"Oh a Sugar Daddy is mighty fine, too. If you find the right one. You got one?"

Martha shook her head. "Not…exactly. I have this friend…this Doctor-?"

"A doctor! Well, look at you! Lucille ain't got to teach you nothin, child!"

"Well, it's not exactly as good as all that." Martha sighed, sitting down on the bed next to the huge trunk. "Sometimes I wonder if he even realizes how much I…" she swallowed and shook her head. "But anyway – this dress is just lovely. I'm afraid I'm going to ruin it somehow..."

"Well, child, if you play your cards right, get a little moonshine in you, maybe you _will_ get to ruin that dress tonight! Now let's get you made up."

They did her makeup and curled her hair. She slipped on some shoes that sort of fit and allowed Lucille to give her the faintest hint of blush and lip colour – not red, but a very nice fleshy pink tint to accent the dress. When they'd done, Lucille put her hands on Martha's shoulders and their eyes met in the reflection of the vanity mirror.

"Honey, if you wanna get this doctor fella's attention, you take a little advice from Miss Lucille, you hear? Make him so jealous he don't know up from down."

Martha smiled as Lucille winked.

"Come on, girl, show me ya stuff! Let's go shake a shimmy!"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

It was hot.

Feet were stomping. Hands clapping. Howls and catcalls reverberated along with the music.

Lucille belted her lungs out, crouching, shaking her hips, swatting her fan, gyrating, sweating, winking.

The piano player's fingers danced across the keys like lightening.

The harmonica wailed and whistled.

Martha danced.

When they'd first arrived, she just kept to the side and watched, politely sipping her drink.

There were easily fifty people stuffed into this rickety shack in the back woods of White Station. Humid, smoky, salty-sweet air filled her lungs. The men hung from the rafters, tapping their thighs and raising their glasses. They danced dirty with their women, grinding and running their hands all over their bodies. They pounded their fists on the unstable tabletops, sloshing beer and moonshine everywhere without a care.

They crouched near Lucille's stage, clapping and howling and swooning and calling dirty things to her.

At first Martha stood near Mister John, taking it all in, utterly fascinated.

Then one song was over, and the applause was deafening. Then another began, and the atmosphere shifted and swayed, dark skin glistened with sweat, women's skirts were inching up their thighs, and Martha swallowed. To have something to do with her nervous hands, she took sips of her drink. Sips turned to gulps. Gulps turned to more refills.

And then Earl asked her to dance.

One song was over. Then another began, and Martha began to loosen up.

Earl handled her expertly, for such a young bloke.

His hands roamed, but didn't cross any lines.

Soon _her_ hands roamed. Soon her head swayed. Soon her knees bent. Soon she was glistening with a fine sheen of perspiration.

One song was over.

Howlin' Wolf was introduced. He stood towering over the room, his imposing form a beacon for the drunk, loose, mourning, put upon, weary men and women crowded in this rickety backwoods juke joint.

"I'm Howlin' Wolf…" his deep voice announced. "And this here is called 'Smokestack Lightenin'."

He strummed his guitar, and an electric whip of urgency shot through Martha. Then the band started up, and Howlin' Wolf began to sing.

_Ah, oh, smokestack lightning__  
__Shinin', just like gold__  
__Why don't ya hear me cryin'?__  
__Ah, whoo hoo, ooh...__  
__Whoo..._

Earl placed his hands on Martha's hips, and they began to sway. She let her head rest on his shoulder, her back to him, and curved her hips upwards. He seemed to like that – he let out a harsh breath and gripped her hips harder.

Martha didn't care. She closed her eyes and danced.

_Whoa, oh, tell me, baby__  
__What's the, matter with you?__  
__Why don't ya hear me cryin'?__  
__Whoo hoo, whoo hoo__  
__Whoo..._

The harmonica sent little eddies of rhythm up and down her spine. The Wolf's voiced lulled and intoxicated her. The thick air in the room coaxed and caressed her. She danced. Earl's hands were roaming more bravely now. Martha was hot, and tired – frightened and emotionally drained – but she felt invigorated.

The crowd of men seemed to be calling to _her_, now. They seemed to be clapping for _her_. The whistles and catcalls swelled around her as Earl slid his hands up her thighs, picked her up, grinded against her, dipped their hips down low, buried his face in her hair.

_Whoa, oh, tell me, baby__  
__Where did ya, stay last night?__  
__A-why don't ya hear me cryin'?__  
__Whoo hoo, whoo hoo__  
__Whoo..._

Martha imagined that these were The Doctor's hands.

She gave in to her basest instincts; let herself fall into fantasy. She deserved this. She'd been running and fighting and scrambling for some semblance of affection from him for too long. He wasn't here – she was alone, facing these things without him, and tonight she just didn't give a damn.

She imaged The Doctor grinding into her, running his hands along her body, bowing her back, swinging her around, showing her off.

Her eyes closed, her inhibitions gone, Martha danced like she'd never danced before. The combination of Howlin' Wolf's hypnotic voice and the stomping, gyrating masses of men surrounding her in the hot, sweaty room carried her away…

_Whoa, oh, stop your train__  
__Let her, go for a ride__  
__Why don't ya hear me cryin'?__  
__Whoo hoo, whoo hoo__  
__Whoo..._

She swung her hair around, now damp and limp from the humidity. She moaned and undulated against the man who held her – in her mind's eye he was The Doctor, gritting his teeth and mischievously copping a feel.

_Whoa, oh, fare ya well__  
__Never see, ah, you no more__  
__Ah, why don't ya hear me cryin'?__  
__Ooh, whoo hoo, whoo hoo_

She was angry. She felt it, brimming inside her, mingling with loneliness and frustration. She was angry and horny! She was human, damn it. She wasn't a nine hundred year old alien who didn't _ever_ seem to need sexual gratification, or a snog, or _any_ kind of affection…let alone love…let alone desperate, painful, bitterly unrequited love.

The only time he _did_ act like a normal, hot-blooded being was when he was attacked by a bloody werewolf and spurred on by instincts he didn't want and couldn't control! How's that for a putdown! _I'm appalled that I kissed you, Martha, it's only because I'm a werewolf…not because I actually __**want**__ you or anything._

Ugh! Martha grit her teeth and danced harder, feeling Earl get excited and not really caring. The poor boy, she was using him to exercise her frustration, but he didn't have to know that. Even if he did, she didn't think he'd mind so much. He was enjoying himself.

_Whoa, oh, who been here baby since__  
__I, I been gone, a little, bitty boy?__  
__Girl, be on__  
__Ah, whoo hoo, whoo hoo_

One song was over. Then another song began.

Martha fanned herself as the faster-paced song started up, finally opening her eyes. Earl was grinning from ear to ear, all traces of his usual silent surliness gone now. "You sho is a fine dancer, Miss Martha!" he said over the music, pulling her into him once more.

Martha felt ashamed of herself for leading him on that way. She opened her mouth to awkwardly request a break from their dancing when her eyes caught sight of two shining crescent moons hovering in the smoky darkness of the juke joint. Her heart skipped a beat, and The Doctor stepped into the lamplight.

They stared at each other across the sea of dark faces.

His expression was unreadable, but his eyes had become deep, molten pools of desire. Martha felt like her body was on fire, held fast to the spot at the mercy of his smoldering gaze. She looked to Earl to tell him that their dance was definitely over now. "Erm...just a tick?"

He looked disappointed but she had to get away and didn't let it deter her.

When she looked back towards The Doctor, however, she found that he was gone. Martha's eyes darted all over the room, the deafening music making it hard for her to think straight. He wasn't there anymore. Was she _that_ sloshed?

No…she was sure, he'd been there. And the look in his eyes…Martha felt herself grow moist at the memory. And now he was gone. Her heart sank as she realized what had probably happened. He was running away from her.

Then she became angry all over again. She would be damned if she would let him this time.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor saw Martha's body, slick with sweat, draped exquisitely in a pearl-colored slip of a dress, grinding into Earl Wilkes with a sensual abandon that made his loins ache.

He had never seen her that way. He liked what he saw.

He stood in the shadows, every part of him wishing that he were Earl, watching as the boy touched her in places that made hard, cold jealously roil inside him.

Howlin' Wolf moaned and howled, and The Doctor felt the suffocating smell of human blood invade his senses, along with a desperately painful lust that quickened his dual heartbeat.

His eyes gleamed, his jaw set so rigidly that he could crush metal.

And Martha danced, glistening, supple, curvaceous, sexy…mouthwatering.

When the song was over The Doctor was literally fighting with everything he had not to lurch forward, rip Earl's throat open, and take her right there. Such a thought sickened him, and yet he longed to do so.

Then she spotted him, in the shadows, and their eyes connected.

She could see through him. She recognized what was in his eyes. He couldn't hide it from her this time. She knew. She was coming.

Her scent wafted towards him, cutting through the thick smog of the sweaty bloodscent of the men in the room.

The Doctor found his opportunity to escape when she turned away to speak to Earl.

He slipped out as quickly as he could, and breathed in large lung-fulls of fresh air once he was outside in the night.

He ran.

A heat wave seized him as he burst through the trees, anger and feral desire surged in his veins, and he ripped at his clothes violently. Off with his jacket and shirt, the memory of Martha's slick body grinding into that _boy_ burned behind his eyes. Off with his shirt, her lips parted so sensually haunting his every move so that he felt stifled by his need to seize them with his own. He ripped off his tight pants and kicked off his shoes, and he was free!

His temperature cooled instantly and he sped up, a lightning bolt in the woods, burning through the damp green foliage like a missile.

The Doctor let go of himself, thoughts of Martha ricocheting all through him, and the Haemovariform voice breaking through his defenses, urging him forward.

_Yes! __**Yes!**__ Give in, Doctor! Bond with us! Hunt, breed, feed, conquer!_

He let it come. Let it take him. He licked his lips, and was The Doctor no more.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha pushed through the crowd of admiring men and smirking women.

She passed Mister John, laughing it up with Lucille, but paid them no attention as she forced her way to the back door and out into the humid night.

The Doctor was nowhere to be found. The echoing sounds of soulful, sinful music followed her but she could scarcely hear it, for her eyes were scanning the darkness for him. Her heart pounded and she grit her teeth. "Doctor!" she called.

Nothing. She felt tears well in her eyes, and wiped them away harshly. It wasn't fair. For that one moment, she had seen it in his eyes, a confirmation, an acknowledgement. Lust, and longing, and an answer – y_es I want you too_, they said. She'd been certain. But then, she had been 'certain' before, and look where _that_ ended her up?

And he was gone again. Just – gone. As only The Doctor's could, his absence after such an admission was a hundred times more painful than his obliviousness. He would rather run than face how she felt about him.

"Coward!" she growled, hugging herself.

"Miss Martha?" Mister John had followed her outside. He approached her tentatively, his face folded in concern. "You alright?"

She turned towards him, letting her tears fall. "No…"

He immediately closed the distance between them and folded her into his big, strong arms. He squeezed her tight. "What's wrong, Martha?"

She cried into his massive chest, inhaling the smell of his perspiration and cologne. "The Doctor…he's…"

"Shh…it's okay. Don't cry."

She lifted her head and sighed, letting him wipe her tears away gently. He gazed down at her for a moment, and she knew what was coming but she didn't try to stop it. Mister John leaned in and kissed her softly. It was sweet, and tender, and everything she would've wished for from a man. Except that as wonderful as John was – he was not The Doctor. That mere fact – that she was ruined for all other men for her unrelenting love of a Time Lord – was enough to drive her insane.

Mister John seemed to sense this truth in her stillness and silence. He sighed and gave her a rueful smile.

"You deserve the world, you know that woman?"

She laughed pitifully. "I've seen the world…and it's just no good without him."

He nodded, releasing her. "I think you oughta tell him that."

She bit her lip, gazing at him beseechingly. "He won't let me. Every time I try to get closer…he won't let me because I'm not her!"

"Beggin' your pardon, Martha. I don't know who you're talkin' about but, if she ain't around, what's she got to do with you?"

"You don't understand."

"I think I understand more than you gimme credit for. I may not be as educated and worldly as you and The Doctor, but I seen enough livin' in this hell to know when I love somebody I'll be damned if I live in somebody else's shadow like a ghost."

Martha sniffed, her heartbeat quickening. "What should I do?"

"You go tell him how you feel. And if he ain't man enough to realize what he got standin' right in front o'him, you come on back to me." He looked relieved when she laughed at his joke. But it wasn't really a joke. Martha appreciated that.

She reached up on her tiptoes and kissed his cheek. He dipped his head modestly. "You're a wonderful man, John."

"Thank you. Means a lot comin' from you…"

Martha turned and walked away into the darkness, not knowing where she was going or even if she could find The Doctor now, but determined not to give up just yet.

John watched her go, fearing for her safety. White men sometimes patrolled this area at night, lookin' for a good time – whether consensually or by force – with a sister fresh off the juke joint moonshine. Then he relaxed. He somehow knew in his heart that she would find The Doctor. That even though she seemed to doubt it, that strange man was more wrapped up in her than he even realized.

He just hoped he wouldn't break Miss Martha's heart.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

A red wolf had sniffed him out.

The animal didn't quite know what to make of him, but they could both smell the feral savagery wafting off each other. He snarled. It snapped its jaws. They circled each other. Then he pounced, catching the animal as it leapt towards him. Ferocious growling issued from the wolf's gullet as they wrestled with each other in the dirt, and he held it at bay as it tried with all its might to bite down into his jugular.

He let out a vicious cry and pushed it off of him.

It landed on its back but quickly scrambled to its feet again and attacked once more.

He caught it by the throat, squeezing down enough to choke its howl before it escaped properly. He could crush its windpipe with the slightest pressure. He stood holding it up, breathing hard, snarling at it, taunting it.

_**Feed**_…gnashed the Haemovariform.

"Doctor!" far in the distance, he heard Martha's voice.

His head cleared. He remembered himself. With a disgusted gasp, he let the wolf go. It landed awkwardly and yelped as it limped away to lick its wounds.

The Doctor looked down at his naked, dirt-covered body. His anger at the Haemovariform drove a spike of heat right through him.

"Doctor…?"

Martha again, somewhere behind him. He couldn't let her see him like this. He turned and started to run.

As he did, he heard Joan's voice. _Don't throw that girl away…or you really are a monster…and a coward._

He _was_ a coward. The Doctor growled and turned coarse. Martha…Martha…he let his desire take over now, and headed in the direction of her voice.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

When Martha found The Doctor's torn clothing lying in the brush, alarm gripped her.

She had an awful flashback of the day they found him in the train car. Then she looked up at the sky, and saw that the moon was still partially bathed in shadow. There was no way he could've transformed…was there? Martha swallowed down her fear. If The Doctor _was_ a giant, blood thirsty beast, she would just have to go and find out. Like he said, the signal was faulty, it needed more light to work properly. Perhaps she could reason with him.

He also said that without that signal, the werewolves ceased to be soldiers and became nothing more than monsters on the hunt for blood. And since he had resisted bonding with the others, there might be no reasoning with him.

Great.

_Push on, Martha_…she forced herself to keep moving. Even though she was terrified to do so, she called his name in the dark. "Doctor!"

_He won't hurt me, he won't hurt me_, she kept saying to herself. It did little to help her as she stumbled along in the dark, the sounds of the forest giving her the creeps. She heard things scampering around in the trees, and there was little to no light. She kept moving, shaking with fear but determined to find The Doctor.

Then she remembered something, and paused to search his inner jacket pocket. There was a surprising number of odd, random little things inside, and her hand disappeared much deeper than any normal person would think possible. But she was Martha Jones, The Doctor's companion, and she understood the concept that they were bigger on the inside. Then she found it – his sonic screwdriver. She pulled it out and gripped it firmly in her hand, feeling oddly much safer with it, even though she'd only used it once and really had no idea which setting she could use to defend herself.

"Doctor…?" _Please, be alright…please don't be a giant alien werewolf!_

He wouldn't hurt her; she had to believe that. Well, he wouldn't hurt her _physically_, anyway. As far as her heart was concerned, it remained to be seen.

She gripped his shirt and jacket and pants, having slipped his trainers on and left poor Lucille's expensive heels at the edge of the woods for any random person to find. She would make it up to Lucille later, but for now she was glad to at least have somewhat comfortable shoes on – just in case she had to make a run for it.

They were as big as boats on her, but she tied them tightly so they stayed on.

A thousand questions ran through her mind as she trudged through the forest, searching. She came to a clearing. She heard the creek nearby. She could even still faintly hear the music wafting towards her from the juke joint. It relieved her to know that even though she'd reached the creek, people weren't too far away. If she screamed loud enough…?

That was a long shot, but all she had at the moment. That and a sonic screwdriver she didn't know how to operate.

Then she heard a hard crack somewhere on the other side of the clearing, like a big branch being crushed under the wheel of some sort of vehicle. Martha froze, her heart jumping into her throat, dropping The Doctor's clothes to the grass and brandishing the sonic. She didn't dare move an inch. Her eyes frantically searched the landscape.

And, across the clearing, she saw two gleaming eyes hovering in the darkness. Even if Martha _could_ scream, she had a feeling it would die in her throat for her fear.

.She knew it was no use. She couldn't defend herself here. She had to run. Martha lingered for as long as she dared, not taking those terrifying eyes out of her sight – then turned and bolted.

She ran as fast as she could, The Doctor's shoes actually more of a hindrance than a help. Her lungs burned, but she could not stop. She heard it behind her, too close, and she tried hard not to panic.

It was gaining on her. Her pitiful strides were nothing compared to the swiftness with which this unseen danger closed in on her. And then it tackled her, and she screamed. "Ahhh! No – Doctor, help! _HELP!_"

Martha kicked and thrashed in the dirt, trying to use the sonic as a blunt instrument, her heart exploding with terror and her mind pushing her to fight with every ounce of strength she possessed.

"Martha – _Martha!_ It's me...!"

Instead of fur there was flesh. Instead of claws, there were slender fingers gripping her tightly. Instead of a howl or snarl, there was The Doctor's familiar voice. She opened her eyes.

He was on top of her, his eyes still shining, naked as a jaybird, his skin soiled with dirt.

Martha gasped. "Doctor?"

Her eyes roamed over his body, which somehow looked…more muscular than skinny now. His chest rose and fell with his harsh breathing. He didn't speak. He looked so different, yet so familiar. He was her Doctor, but so changed – wild. His hair a mess, his eyes keen with some sort of excitement, his lips…

And she became aware, as he gazed at her, that he was erect.

Martha felt a surge of heat ripple through her, and warm dampness saturated her knickers.

She let out an urgent whimper, and a second later he was tearing at them, ripping them to get them off. Martha kicked off his trainers and let the sonic slip from her hand (it rolled away in the grass somewhere), gripping his hair at the nape of his neck as he took hold of her hips and thrust himself inside her.

"Ah!" she cried out, pleasure and pain exploding deep within her.

He growled and seized her mouth with his, thrusting his tongue inside. Their tongues met and circled each other heatedly as The Doctor tasted every inch of her mouth.

He gripped her thighs tightly, and he slammed himself into her again, making her thighs quiver and fresh tears sprout in her eyes. Then he slammed inside of her again, and again, and over and over again with an insatiable lust that made her swoon. She didn't want him to ever stop, she wanted this so badly, as he pushed them into the earth and pumped her hot, damp sex like he wanted to disappear inside of her.

He kissed her hard, his eyes still catching the waning moonlight every now and then, growling her name.

Martha couldn't think about anything but how deeply he drove inside of her, her fingers digging into the earth beneath her, her naked ass slamming into the ground with each thrust. Twigs tore at her skin and the delicate fabric of Lucille's dress, crickets and forest animals chirped and hummed in time with their breathless grunts.

He pushed the dress up and ripped at her bra, taking one of her breasts into his mouth once they sprang free. He rolled her erect nipple around, sucking and kneading it, causing her to moan and shudder.

He sat up with her, and carried on tirelessly. Martha felt pleasure tinged with pain as he plundered her over and over again.

She felt white heat begin to uncoil deep inside, growing with each thrust. Her need began to take her over, and she met his thrusts by pumping her hips against his hard abs.

It had been so long…so long since she felt this hot and sexy. Every look he ever gave her, every wink, every grin, every time he ever said her name – those long nights she spent alone in her room in the TARDIS, fantasizing about this moment, growing wet and restless at the thought of his cock sliding between her slick folds…his hands on her body…his breath on her neck…his hair…his smell…his lips…Martha let go and let it take her to a place far beyond caring about the rejection, the longing, the pain.

She wanted him to fuck her into oblivion, she needed him so much, her Doctor, and she opened her legs wider, gripped him with her thighs harder, savored ever inch of his hard length inside of her.

Their bodies became slick with sweat, and the white heat approached, growing and growing, until she bit her lip and whimpered at its steady rise.

The Doctor thrust so deep that she saw stars dance across her vision, and the white heat exploded in a violent crescendo, rocketing through her entire body. It spread like wildfire through her thighs to the tips of her toes.

He came soon after, his body going rigid as he emptied himself inside of her, his hands grasping hers in the damp earth.

They breathed hard as it passed, going limp again, settling down against one another.

The Doctor raised his head and she touched his face, tears pooling in her eyes. She whispered: "I love you…"

The Doctor closed his eyes and kissed her tenderly. When he pulled back again, he uttered (so quietly she almost didn't hear him): "I've _always_ loved you, Martha Jones."

* * *

PS: I agonized over this last scene, not sure if it was good enough. I didn't want too much time to pass before I updated, so this is what I ended up with. Please let me know what you think about it? Next installment: BIG secrets revealed!


	21. Chapter 21

_A bittersweet interlude..._

* * *

**XXI**

It took a moment for his words to sink in. Only, that moment seemed to stretch on forever.

During that time, Martha felt as though every one of her senses were experiencing some kind of cosmic boost. She experienced them all as though they were isolated and extremely acute, yet they were all layered on top of each other and blended together in perfect symmetry.

The night air, where there was a slight breeze, swept across her skin and caressed her hair, cooling the fine sheen of perspiration that made it cling to her forehead. Her lips felt tender from his passionate, desperate kisses. His weight on top of her was warm, and heavy, and exquisitely real. The ground beneath her molded to her naked flesh; tiny little pebble stones embedding themselves into her, dirt and damp grass clinging to her, twigs scratching her. The faintly pulsing, crooning, soulful sounds of the juke joint wafted on the night breeze to her ears, but they were nothing compared to the sound of The Doctor's breathing. Deep, soft, and slow. And his skin, hot and sticky, sliding across hers. His muscular chest pressed down on her breasts and the errant hairs of his happy trail (that ended in a soft curly triangle between his pecks) tickled and aroused her. His hands touched her still; one gripping her bottom and the other cradling her head by the crook of her neck, fingers laced in her hair. He was still inside her. _Inside her_, thick and palpably strong – and the exquisite sensation was only compounded when he moved slightly, filling her even spent as he was.

He was _The Doctor_. Every day Martha had marveled at him, all fire and power, energy, restlessness, wrath and mercy and genius. He could feel the turn of the Earth, command the stars and manipulate Time itself – yet here he was, lying on top of her. Gentle, sated, and at peace. Martha felt the oddest sliver of satisfaction in that knowledge.

And that's when his words finally reached her.

It seemed he had been waiting for her mind to catch up to the present. It had only been a moment; a breath; a pause, but he seemed to understand that time had moved much slower for her just then.

She blinked, staring into his eyes. He looked calm, almost relieved…as if a great burden had been lifted from his shoulders. Right now they were the familiar deep, dark, ancient eyes she was used to.

"What did you say…?" she whispered faintly.

When he replied, his voice was deep, serious. But it lulled her, aroused her.

"I said…I've always loved you."

It wasn't that Martha didn't believe him – but to hear him say such a thing completely contradicted what she'd experienced. She found herself flipping through memories rapidly in her head – of the first day they met to now – trying to pinpoint when she might've missed this "I've always loved you" part. He smiled faintly, obviously cottoning onto what she was doing.

She paused, feeling so…_completely taken with him_…but part of her held back. Part of her feared…

"Is this…because of the werewolf?"

"No." He answered without hesitation, his voice still deep and husky. His eyes remained normal, not shining. "I am in control right now."

He gripped her tighter, causing her to bite her lip as he shifted his weight on top of her. She could feel him beginning to harden again, and his eyes slipped down to her lips.

"I am so…_so_ in control…" his mouth parted, his breath caressing her face, and he sat up with her.

Martha gasped softly as she felt how his length stroked her deep inside with the movement.

He began to kiss her, gently, slowly, across her face and on her neck, and as he did he held her tightly to him and made love to her a second time. This time it was much sweeter and not so full of carnal lust, but she came harder than before – a hot rush of pleasure flooded through her and she cried out, clinging to him desperately.

The Doctor groaned deeply and bit down on her neck – Martha felt her heart flutter – but he only kneaded the flesh there as he came, too.

Then he threw his head back and pulled in big gulps of air. He grit his teeth, breathing hard. Martha felt fascinated (not for the first time) as she watched him. When he finally looked down at her, his eyes were gleaming again, but he grinned. "Martha, Martha, _Martha Jones_…" he growled.

The wild look in his eyes frightened her a tiny bit, but she admitted to herself that she loved hearing him say her name that way. "You've got some explaining to do, mister."

"Oh, yes!" he said, and he sounded more like himself then.

In one swift, lithe movement, he stood up with her, gripping her to him effortlessly as if she weighed no more than a stone. She couldn't help a tiny yelp of surprise, but she felt her heart swoop with delight as he eased himself out of her and kissed her vigorously once – twice – three times on her sore lips.

"But right now, I want to try something."

Martha decided to just go with the strangeness of this whole scenario. She simply clung to him as she bent with her (holding her steady with one strong arm; her legs wrapped securely round his waist) and gathered up his clothing and her knickers. He slipped his pants on, hoisting her up with that one arm, before finally scooping up his sonic and sticking it in his pocket.

Then he turned and began to carry her away. "Where are we going?"

"Wellll, I don't know about _you_, Martha, but I fancy a swim right about now."

She laughed. "A swim? In the creek? You're joking!"

"Quite serious."

And The Doctor – this new, wild, half naked, frightening and simultaneously intoxicating Doctor – carried Martha through the trees towards the edge of the forest where the creek waters rushed lazily along. Martha marveled at how the night had progressed. She'd gone from being knackered and frustrated to wanton and sloshed to scared out of her wits to stunned – now she felt thrilled, sexy, and just a bit mad.

Just the swiftness with which he switched from Normal Doctor to Wild Doctor made her dizzy, but she was determined to keep up. She was beside herself wanting to ask him a thousand questions, starting with _"did you mean what you said?"_

Luckily, as he walked, he talked.

"Where should I begin?" As if he'd only just thought of it, he tugged at her dress, so that it loosed from being bunched up above her bare breasts and fell to cover her more (she was grateful).

"How about starting with 'I've always loved you, Martha Jones'?" she suggested slyly.

"Oh, alright, if I must." He did a mischievous face and winked at her, squeezing her naked bum enough to arouse a hot swell of desire between her legs. Then his expression sobered. "I hid that well, did I?"

"Yeah you did." Martha lost her smile, letting her honest feelings show on her face. It was very dark, but she knew he could see her expression clearly. A soft, low-hanging branch disturbed her hair as they passed it by. " 'Not that you're replacing her'… 'You're just a novice, I'll take you home in the morning'…" Martha repeated these things to him, wincing at the memory of how much they stung at the time. " 'One trip, that's all you get'… 'I'd rather be on my own, anyway'…and then…"

She stopped herself.

"No, go on…" he urged solemnly, not looking at her but glaring darkly at the forest ahead as he carried her.

Martha sighed, preferring not to linger on these thoughts, suddenly not wishing to reveal how much he'd hurt her before. Wanting desperately to remain in the fairytale moment when he said that he'd always loved her. Thinking about these things now made the rational person in her doubt such a confession. It stung; she couldn't deny that. As wonderful as this revelation (and their lovemaking) had been, sober reality could still slap her out of it at any moment. That was the way things went, traveling with The Doctor. If you weren't careful, the fantasy of it all – the new worlds and strange beings and fascinating stories and adventures waiting to be had – would sweep you up and carry you off, only to leave you crashing back down to Earth once you encountered the terrible death and danger behind the veil of magnificence.

"I know it wasn't your fault. You weren't there, you weren't yourself. But…watching John Smith fall in love with Nurse Redfern…"

He was silent for a long while, seemingly concentrating on maneuvering through the foliage, hoisting her more securely along with their things. Then he came to a stop and sought out her eyes with his. Martha finally allowed herself to look him fully in the face again.

"Can you ever forgive me for that?" he whispered.

She considered him for a moment. Her heart swelled. Fresh tears sprouted in her eyes, but she didn't start crying; only allowed those to fall and nothing more. She shrugged. "Of course I forgive you. I'm in love with you, Doctor. D'you think I could go through that if I wasn't?"

A proud smile broke across his face. "Oh, Martha Jones I think you can do anything you put your clever mind to. That's why the moment I met you, that first day…" he paused.

"What?"

When he spoke next, he managed to keep the raw emotion she saw threatening to break through at bay. But his voice was coated with it; husky in a different way than earlier.

"When I lost Rose, I was very angry, Martha. I was…reckless. Merciless. Empty." He swallowed. "Then a friend, she told me that I needed someone. Turns out, that someone is you."

Martha searched his face for the truth; his large, deep brown eyes were earnest.

"At first it was just, you know, a bit of fun – a distraction. Someone new, someone eager, someone I could pretend with, show off to…it felt good. And then you started to catch on, of course. That's when I knew you'd be _brilliant_. And you _so_ are. And I can't help myself…every day, you amaze me Martha Jones. Your passion, your bravery, your humanity. I thought no one would ever make me feel this way after Rose, and I-"

He stopped himself, seemed to think better of it, and smiled again.

"I was afraid."

Martha frowned. "Afraid? _You?_ Of what?"

"You live long enough, Martha, and after a while the only certainly left is that you'll end up alone." He repeated something he had said to Richard Lazarus in Suffolk Cathedral one strange and horrible night. "And I've lived…" he shook his head, "…_a long time._ Sometimes I think I've lived too long and lost too much. I was afraid, even with Rose, to get too near, too close. Afraid to let anyone in. Afraid of letting myself fall…"

The Doctor looked at her lips. Martha didn't think she'd ever get tired of seeing the desire in his eyes. He leaned in and kissed her gently. As he did, he dropped his shirt, jacket, and tie to the ground, along with her knickers. Martha didn't pay attention to his movements (his tongue encircled hers with such stirring sensuality that she nearly whimpered) as he undid he trousers let them fall as well. It wasn't until he jumped that she tore her eyes open and gasped.

They were soaring!

Straight up into the air, high above the trees, and she could see the steadily flowing creek beneath them. They began to descend. Martha felt a delightful dip in her stomach as they came down and she screamed with glee (and a tinge of fear). Into the water, and The Doctor let her go as it swirled around her. She floated back up to the surface.

Martha emerged gasping and took in the warm night air, brushing her wet hair off of her face. She looked around and saw The Doctor break through the surface a short distance away, grinning from ear to ear, his normally spiky hair wet and falling in his eyes.

"_Whoa, Nelly!_" she exclaimed.

"Being a werewolf has its perks, eh?"

"You could say that again!"

The Doctor laughed.

"Oh no, but Lucille's dress is ruined!" Martha moaned, wiping the water from her face again, returning his wide smile.

His grin turned puckish; this was the most carefree she'd seen him in days. "Ohhh it'll be fine! We'll take it to Eurillion – it's the dry cleaning capitol of Caprica, you know. They can make anything shine good as new; _better_ than new; like spun gold."

"There's a dry cleaning capitol?" Martha raised her eyebrows.

"Of course!" He began to swim easily towards her, his long body cutting through the water almost noiselessly. "There's also a bowling capitol, a cat capitol, a dinner salad capitol, a crossword capitol, a chocolate milkshake capitol, a custard capitol…you name it, it's there, all scattered across this great big, brilliant universe."

Martha laughed and shook her head, wading closer to him. "_Dinner salad_…you're making it up."

"Am not! Best cherry tomatoes in the galaxy. You'll see. I'll take you." And he looked down at her tenderly, kissing her again. He looked delighted; at ease; curious. He kissed her yet again, and again – like a teenager with his first bird. "I'll take you wherever you want to go…anywhere, everywhere! Name it, Martha Jones; the universe is yours."

"Ooh, how romantic!" Martha pretended to swoon. "Be still my beating heart!"

He realized she was having a go at him and he sloshed water at her. Martha yelped and tried to push his head under, but of course it was no use – he picked her up and took her with him. Her scream was cut off as she found herself submerged, and when they broke through again he pulled her close and wiped the water from her face gently.

"Isn't this what you want?" He breathed, his face very close. He searched her eyes. "Isn't that what's supposed to happen now? Love and adventure, hand in hand, through time, across the stars…with me?"

Martha sighed. She understood now, why he was saying these things. She understood what he was trying to convey to her. "It isn't that simple, is it?"

The Doctor was silent, staring at her meaningfully.

He didn't have to answer. She saw it in his eyes. She wasn't so naive to believe that, since he finally confessed himself, that they would skip off into the sunset happily ever after. With The Doctor, things could _never_ be that simple. And, even though she wouldn't change what happened tonight for the world, she also understood why he tried to avoid their coming together. Why he talked so much sometimes without ever really _saying_ anything. Why he chose to let her go on feeling rejected rather than give in to how he felt about her. Why speaking about Rose (about _all_ of it, really: his past and life before the destruction of Gallifrey included) was so very difficult for him. Why it was so bloody hard to get close to him; to get him to admit anything; reveal anything; share _anything_.

These last few months (and indeed, _however_ long Martha would be with him after this) were a mere _blip_ in all the years he had existed. A pause; a breath; a moment too brief to be fair. She would be gone too, one day. And he would carry on. She could be happy with him for the rest of her life – but in the end, only _he_ would be left. He was always the only one standing. The Doctor and his enemies. Forever.

Martha suddenly felt such immense sadness at this realization that she almost didn't _want_ The Doctor to love her. It seemed like more of a burden for him than a blessing.

"Martha…" he whispered, bringing her out of her thoughts. She looked into his eyes, and they gleamed silvery white. "If I could…pause, here, and freeze this moment in time…in an infinite loop where there's nothing but the night and you and me here forever…I would."

"No, you wouldn't. And I wouldn't want you to."

He looked at her, and something in his eyes bloomed – something erupted. As though he never expected her to say such a thing. To have such a selfless thought. And Martha instinctually knew that this release in his eyes was his last shred of doubt that he was in love with her. Maybe she _did_ know him as well as he said she did, after all.

"Now we've got work to do."

"That we do." Pride shined in his silver eyes now.

Martha took a deep breath and wiped her face, where she just realized tears were falling. "Right, then."

"Okay?" he asked softly.

"Yeah."

He swallowed and nodded solemnly. He allowed them one last kiss before their brief, amorous interlude was over.

As they waded back towards the creek bank, Martha wondered when – if ever – things would be like this again. It seemed almost surreal now, as they dressed in silence and The Doctor took her hand to lead her back towards the juke joint. They kept taking sideways glances at each other, perhaps to savor every single detail of each other as they were now, both knowing that with each step towards the sound of blues music wafting on the thick night air, they were leaving behind the bare beginnings of some great love affair. It was a luxury they could not afford now.

The two happy, normal people swimming in a creek, laughing and in love, were being pushed aside and replaced by a time traveler and his companion who had a job to be getting on with.

After all, the moon wasn't so covered in shadow as they liked to tell themselves. Time was their enemy now; it moved on mercilessly. They had to follow, to catch up with the approaching full moon before it was too late.

The Doctor's eyes were still full of silver menace; even when they were his normal brown, they were still wild and frightening. He could still lose control any moment. The lupine infection was still oscillating away in his blood, along with the blood of those thirty innocent people at the county hospital. The Haemovariform were still whispering and slithering around in his mind, looking for weaknesses, trying to find a way to break him.

And they were still no closer to producing an antidote than they were twelve days ago.

_Yes_, she thought as they found their way, wet and holding hands, towards the light and music, _being with The Doctor was lovely, but now its time to make sure that you can all get out of this alive._

It was better to lock her heart away for now, and preserve those passionate moments in his arms perfectly in her mind so that she could focus on the difficult task ahead. And that's exactly what she did. Because there was no telling when – or if – they would ever have anything like tonight again.


	22. Chapter 22

**XXII**

**Day 14.**

"Thick!" The Doctor exclaimed, clawing at his already disheveled hair. Martha jumped slightly from her position sitting next to him but he didn't seem to notice that he'd startled her. He stood up and began to pace, his fingers still buried in the spiky mop atop his head, his glasses perched precariously on his nose. "I am so completely _thick!_"

Doctor Lloyd sighed and took off his own spectacles, used to The Doctor's sporadic behavior by now. He and Martha exchanged glances as The Doctor paced angrily, now tapping himself harshly in the temples with his eyes screwed shut.

"Think, think, think, think, think – _think!_" He chewed on his thumbnail now. "None of this is working…there's _got_ to be another way. Ohhhh, _think_, you useless lump of nerve endings!" He rapped his knuckles against his skull.

"Doctor, with all due respect…" Lloyd began patiently. "Any normal DNA structure would take most veteran doctors _months_ to completely decode. We've been at it for a fortnight!"

"_I'm not most doctors_," The Doctor barked, "and we don't have months!"

"Well throwing tantrums and acting like an infant won't get us any closer." Martha muttered. She'd been working practically round the clock for days now and he wasn't the only one who was frustrated.

The Doctor stopped pacing abruptly and looked at her. He suddenly looked intensely ashamed of himself. Ever since that night in the woods, they'd operated on a silent understanding. Despite being determined to kick on and get to the bottom of this thing, sometimes he'd look at her with such openness, such _un_-Doctorly transparency, that Martha couldn't help feeling as though everything would be fine. And then there were times like today, when they seemed to be getting nowhere. Just nowhere.

They tried everything, short of opening up The Doctor's veins and testing _his_ unfathomable DNA.

Usually with The Doctor, things moved pretty fast (with the exception of 1913 of course). His mind worked on so many levels, and his actions were usually swift and without the faintest trace of uncertainty. Sure, there were times when Martha despaired (that escape pod falling into the sun, for one), but always, always The Doctor had a solution.

_This_, however…this was torture for him. It figured that at a time when Martha felt closer to him than ever, they were failing to do what they did best – save the day.

The look in his eyes now told her he felt the same way. That he expected it. For The Doctor to stop feeling like a lone warrior, lives had to be at stake. Their time by the creek was over, but they were paying for it.

Martha's expression softened and she opened her mouth to take it back. He spoke before she could, however.

"You're absolutely right." He said simply, his eyebrows lifting. He looked more like himself, then, which relieved her. "So! Like I was saying, perhaps we aren't looking at the bigger picture here."

"And what exactly is the bigger picture, Doctor Smith?"

"That we may not find a way through this maze in this laboratory."

"But-?" Martha started to protest, a bit nettled that he was so quick to dismiss all their hard work. Sure, they hadn't found a cure, but they were learning things as they went. Specifically what not to try again and what might be useful if they could find another combination to test out. She knew that was wishful thinking, though.

"That's not to say we shouldn't keep at it, Martha. As I said before, we never know, _but_…there is something else at work here. Something else we should be paying attention to; something obvious but _not_ obvious; typical but sort of unrelated – aha, but _is_ it related? We don't know because we aren't looking!"

"Good God, man what are you _saying_?" Lloyd demanded impatiently. "Some coherence, _please_?"

The Doctor grinned at him. "It's nearly tea time, isn't it? What say we get out; take in some fresh air? Maybe pop in to see Deputy Morris, Martha?"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Laurel sent her love, along with a box of homemade chocolate gingersnaps, his favorite.

Deputy Morris folded her letter carefully and placed it in his shirt pocket. He decided to save the gingersnaps for when he could really relax and enjoy them. She would remain in Texas, at his behest, because she was a good devoted wife and he was not about to see any harm come to her while he was in the midst of all this mess.

Speaking of the mess.

After he made sure County Hospital would permit Martha access to their facilities (that one hadn't been easy, but with The Doctor's credentials and some hard rank-pulling, he'd managed it), he went about getting Percy and Fletch out of the ice box. In Sheriff's day, they'd have languished back there for Lord only knew how long, just to show the Negroes who was boss. He made all the proper arrangements and gladly turned those boys over to be buried. Then he set out making sure Laurel stayed put in Texas and settled some disputes around town he'd been neglecting since this whole werewolf thing came up to clear up as much of his time for this as possible.

Then he started looking into things, just as The Doctor has suggested.

He had to be careful, but he managed to pilfer some of The Sheriff's confidential files. He was working from home today. He sat in his kitchen, drinking coffee and leafing through the files. He didn't want to be seen with them at the office. Ever since his argument with Ed on the GYST House lawn, things had been a bit tense around the station.

The men did as they were told, but Morris couldn't shake the feeling that there was something he wasn't privy to lurking underneath their gazes and in their tones. Ed and Homer were raised up together; they were best friends, been close for years. He expected them to stick together. But this…well, this felt different.

_One thing at a time_, _Hugh_…he told himself

Likely they were sore about his bid to replace Downey. Likely they both felt he was soft; too lenient with the Negros. Likely they planned to protest in some fashion whenever the mayor arrived. He'd deal with that when the time came.

And he found what he was looking for.

Freight slips. Hidden within a bundle of old booking papers. To the order of…Emma Downey? The Sheriff's dead wife. A red flag went up in Morris' mind. Further intriguing, the slips were initialed R.W.B. Signed by Roy Walworth Calhoun. They looked perfectly legit to anyone just glancing. Except look a little closer and you'd see that the receiver was actually deceased – and the cargo descriptions were blank. Well, they were filled out, but just scribbles. Not real words. He flipped through the stack of slips; all dated for this past year. Consistent deliveries every two months since around the time the Mayor announced his bid for Governor of the great state of Mississippi.

Black Market shipments, no doubt.

Morris figured he owed himself a trip down to the freight station.

He finished off his coffee and stood up from the table. As he grabbed his hat, a sharp, enthusiastic knock sounded at his door. Frowning, Morris went to see who it was. He sauntered through the kitchen into the foyer, where he unlocked the door and opened it a crack.

The Doctor was beaming at him, and he gave a little wave.

Morris rolled his eyes and opened the door all the way. Martha came in behind The Doctor.

"Doc, Miss Martha. What can I do for you?"

The Doctor clasped his hands behind his back and looked around, peering through doorways unabashedly. "Ohhh, we just came to check in on your investigation, Deputy."

"How's it going?" Martha asked, folding her arms and giving him an apologetic smile for The Doctor's rudeness. "Find anything of interest?"

"Funny you should ask – I was just on my way to the freight station. Care to take a ride out there with me?"

"We'd love to," The Doctor quirked an eyebrow and gestured for Morris to lead the way. Morris put on his hat and was two strides to the door again before The Doctor's loud sniffing made him pause. Both Morris and Martha turned to examine the lanky man cocking his head to the side, a thoughtful frown on his face. "Is that…gingersnaps I smell?"

He sniffed again and his face lit up like a Christmas tree.

"_Chocolate_ gingersnaps?"

"Doctor…" Martha intoned, looking embarrassed.

The Doctor was halfway to the kitchen when she spoke, but at her voice he stopped in his tracks and offered a sheepish smile. "Right…sorry. That was rude."

"Tell you what, Doc," Morris shook his head, bemused. "You help me rid this town of all this supernatural foolishness, and I'll get my wife Laurel to bake you all the chocolate gingersnaps you can eat. Deal?"

"Oh, yes!" The Doctor shook his hand vigorously and bounded through the front door. "Come on, then."

Morris allowed Martha to pass first and then locked the door behind him. They followed him around to the side of the house, where a small stable stood. He had built it himself. He remembered fondly how Laurel would bring him sweet iced tea and a homemade lunch during those hot days when he spent hours working on it. He missed her something terrible.

"I usually take my horse," he muttered, putting aside lonesome thoughts of his wife, "but I also got a truck. We can take that."

As they neared the stable (just big enough to house his horse and his truck and a few tools), his mare neighed loudly in agitation and reared up on her hind legs, shaking her mane to and fro. "Whoaaa, girl, settle down now!" Morris hurried to her, raising his arms for calm.

"What's the matter?" Martha inquired, coming in after him. Morris shook his head distractedly, watching his girl jump around nervously, neighing and flaring her nostrils, pacing and trotting around her little stall. "She's upset, but by what?"

"By _me_, if I had to guess," The Doctor spoke solemnly. "I don't blame her, really."

Morris then noticed that the lanky man was hovering in the entranceway, his hands in his pockets, gazing ruefully at the fidgety horse. Morris started to reply, but he caught an eerie gleam in The Doctor's eyes for a split second that made him stop. It reminded him of the first night he met The Doctor, standing stone still in the GYST House yard. He thought he'd seen that silvery shine then, and he was pretty positive he'd just seen it again.

The Doctor allowed Morris to stare at him, settling down on his canvas shoes, legs in an upside down V, hands in pockets, all traces of his playfulness concerning gingersnaps having vanished. His eyes were a normal color again, but the ghost of silvery white light seemed to hover within them, like some sort of multi-reflective surface. Morris left Martha with the mare – she was speaking softly to it and whispering "shhh" calmly, though half her attention was on Morris and The Doctor.

"Doc, hope you don't mind me telling you this, but…you look like hammered shit."

The Doctor scoffed, a sour smile spreading across his freckled face, though his eyes remained serious. It was true. He had dark circles under his eyes and there was a sort of restless, frayed scruffiness about him that hadn't been there the last time they'd spoken.

The Doctor swallowed, nodding shortly, then inhaled and ran a hand through his spiky hair. "We're not doing very well at the hospital, Deputy," he answered gravely. "That's partially why Martha and I have come to see you. I'm hoping you've found something…something I've been missing."

"So you're still convinced that Mayor White and Sheriff Downey have something to do with this?"

"Right now, all I have are my instincts. And trust me, they've been given a bit of a…boost, lately."

Martha had calmed the horse, but the animal backed up in her stall and pushed air through her nostrils intermittently, her big round eyes fixed on The Doctor. "Well, answer me this: how'd ya get my horse so spooked?"

The Doctor smiled. "Oh didn't I tell you? I'm a werewolf!"

He sauntered past Morris and used his little silver wand to open the rusty door of the rarely-driven '34 model Ford pickup parked in the shadows past the horse's stall. The mare neighed in agitation as he walked through, but kept her distance. The Doctor didn't glance her way.

Morris was stunned. He looked to Martha. "It's…a story," she offered lamely.

"Well, you're damn well gonna tell me," Morris demanded, getting a little fed up with all of this. "Let's go. Start talking."

In the truck, Martha squeezed between Morris and The Doctor in the front cab. He started the engine and they started talking. Taking turns, they explained how The Doctor was attacked, how he was once in the same "coma-link" state as the patients at County, and how because of his advanced telepathy he was able to break with the Haemovariform long enough to bring himself out of it.

"But that means constant effort on my part to block them out. Haemovariform or not, I've been infected and when the full moon comes, if we don't have a solution, I don't stand a chance."

Morris noticed Martha tense up at those words, but she didn't speak.

"But if you can hear them in your mind, why not spy on them? Why not – I don't know – reverse the wire, see if you can uncover the secret that way."

"Doesn't work like that," The Doctor answered, frowning deeply. "That signal broadcasting from the moon may be wonky, but it still works. The closer I get to them; the further I venture…the more vulnerable I am to them. I may not come back at all. They're counting on that. They're counting on me to…slip up…" He swallowed and turned his gaze to the window, looking a bit haunted if Morris could put a word to it.

"I guess that explains why you look like you ain't caught a single wink since last we saw each other." He muttered as they turned onto the main road leading through town.

"You haven't been sleeping?" Martha asked, her eyes fixed on the side of the Doc's head. Morris could tell by her tone that she probably already suspected as much, but hearing someone else's suspicions had confirmed her own in her mind. She also sounded scolding, just a touch.

The Doctor turned his head in their direction again, his expression stern.

"We're not worrying about me now, Martha, we're more interested in hearing what the Deputy has found."

Now he planted his expectant gaze on Morris, a steadfast resolution in his eyes that they would not be discussing his wellbeing any further. Morris cleared his throat and sat up in his seat, feeling a bit like a third wheel. Martha set her jaw and crossed her arms, staring straight ahead. They remained that way (her staring bullets into the windshield, and the Doc stubbornly ignoring her exasperation) as Morris brought them up to speed on what he'd discovered so far.

"As hassled as these fellas are to get shipments in and outta here as fast as possible by the money men, I ain't surprised they didn't toss more 'n a hasty glance at the gibberish Calhoun scribbled on those freight slips." They had parked near the freight station, about a mile down from the passenger station along the tracks, when he'd finished: " 'Sides which, Calhoun is the boss when he blows through town. He owns a freight line that runs over a dozen trains all through the South – he's respected-"

"And connected?" The Doctor offered.

Morris nodded, spitting to the ground. "I reckon he's gettin' a payroll from Mayor White to move this stuff along his line. Can't figure what he's moving, though. At first I thought it was your fellow werewolves, but…turns out that ain't the case."

"And that's why we're here?" Martha asked as they made their way to the station office.

"Mm-hm," The Doctor answered for Morris. "And I'm curious as to why no one seemed to notice a dead woman ordering so much freight…on such a regular basis at that."

"Well sometimes spouses maintain accounts after their significant others have passed," Martha hypothesized. "Perhaps people just assumed Downey didn't have the heart to cancel it?"

"Perhaps…" The Doctor chewed on his lip. "But then, what account could a Southern lady possibly maintain that a hardened county Sheriff would continue ordering from every two months? "

"I dunno..." Martha shrugged halfheartedly. " 'Garters and guns?' "

"And secondly, don't forget – these shipments have only been going on for about a year…" Morris added. "Emma died back in '29."

They entered the office and Morris took the lead, walking up to the front desk and tapping the call bell on the counter. A middle-aged man in soiled overalls shuffled out of a cluttered little office area, wiping his mouth with a handkerchief.

"Help ya, Deputy?"

"Afternoon Jackson," Morris greeted as The Doctor and Martha stood by, looking around. "Sorry to interrupt your lunch there – just have a few questions for ya about some shipment papers."

"What questions? The clerk is on his break but I'll try to be of service."

"Need to see your records on the Calhoun line over the last twelve months, if you don't mind."

Jackson frowned, scratching his chin. "Hmm…Calhoun line, eh?" He bent under the counter and emerged again with a big, leather-bound logbook. He licked his fingertips and opened it up, flipping leisurely through a few pages until he found what he was looking for. "Here 'tis…Calhoun freight lines…ya got Fort Smith, Birmingham, Knoxville…Giddings, Kansas City..."

Morris turned the book around so he could read it. Martha and The Doctor came to flank him at the counter. Jackson eyed them both with a mixture of curiosity and disapproval – something they were both used to by now and ignored. Morris ran his fingers down the page, searching…he turned to the next. And the next. He flipped through the entire Calhoun section, all dating back at least eighteen months. Nothing matching the slips he took from Downey's files.

"Are you seein' what I'm seein', Doc?" Morris muttered.

"Hmm…" The Doctor nodded, removing his glasses and sliding them onto his face. He reached out and slid the book his way. Jackson looked like he wanted to protest, but a glance from Morris kept him silent.

"What are you both seeing?" Martha inquired.

"It appears…" The Doctor intoned thoughtfully, re-examining the pages Morris had searched to be sure, "to be no record in this log of any deliveries under the name Emma Downey…"

"Emma Downey?" Jackson grunted. "Sheriff's missus? She went to her maker years back. You'd hafta check the storage room for records that old..."

"Well that's the thing Jackson," The Doctor said amiably, straightening up and removing his glasses. "We aren't looking years back. We're looking for fairly recent entries…which appear to be missing."

"And who might I ask are _you_, mister?" Jackson squinted harshly at him.

Morris cleared his throat. "He's The Doctor. A specialist in town helpin' me investigate these strange animal attacks we had last week."

Jackson eyed both Martha and The Doctor suspiciously for a moment. "What's the Calhoun freight log gotta do with animal attacks?"

"Ohh, potentially everything, Jackson." The Doctor raised his eyebrows. "Or – possibly nothing at all. Can't hurt to have a look, can it? Well – if there was something here to look at, that is."

"Well there ain't no way any of my logs are missin'." Jackson sniffed indignantly and wiped his chin with the handkerchief. "We keep tight records here, ask anybody. Never had a complaint o'missin' cargo, never had any problems."

"Except last week when one of Calhoun's trains was vandalized, of course," Martha corrected.

Jackson glared at her. "Ain't talkin' to you, gal."

"Well that's a shame because _I'm_ talking to _you_." Martha retorted coolly. "Now, are you going to tell the Deputy what happened to those logs?"

Jackson sputtered, clearly itching to curse at her. Morris sighed. "I got it from here, Martha." Damned if these two weren't more trouble than they were worth.

"Be my guest…" Martha crossed her arms and waited.

"Jackson, you got any reason to suspect anybody of tamperin' with this logbook?"

"No I don't!" Jackson barked. "As foreman of this here freight station I take offense to that, Deputy! Now I done told ya, every shipment is accounted for! Always has been, always will be as long as I'm runnin' things. You got a problem with that, take it up with the moneymen upstate. This here is privately owned, buster."

"Yeah and I'm the law. Money men don't scare me."

"Yeah, well…" Jackson shifted on his boots, his aggravation deflating somewhat. "Pardon me for sayin' but maybe you oughta be. Not even Sheriff went against them, if you follow me. I's you I'd leave well enough alone."

"That so?"

Jackson hesitated, his eyes darting away for a second uncertainly. Morris got the feeling he was realizing that perhaps he'd said too much. Then he squared his shoulders and nodded. "Told you, Deputy – ain't no records o'mine been tampered with. Anythin' else I can help you folks with?"

Morris considered him for a moment, thinking. "That's one of his trains parked outside, right?"

Jackson opened his mouth. Closed it. Nodded briskly. "Waitin' on a connection from Little Rock, be here in a day or two."

"What's coming from Little Rock?" The Doctor asked.

With a glance at Morris, Jackson reluctantly answered: "Passenger train."

"Don't mind if we pop out for a look, do you Jackson?"

"You got a search warrant?" Jackson ignored The Doctor and directed his question to Deputy Morris.

"Oh yes, right!" The Doctor ignored that Jackson ignored him and spoke before Morris could. He was smiling but his eyes were stonily serious. "Well I guess we'll be back with one of those, then. Cheers!"

The Doctor was already turning on his heel. Jackson watched them leave, a sour look on his scruffy face.

When they had stepped through the door he watched their backs retreating through the glass towards the Deputy's Ford. The skinny man with and the Negro gal flanked Morris. They were all talking. The girl glanced back at the office just once.

Jackson backed up, took hold of the telephone on the wall above the clerk's desk, and rotated the dial once for the operator. "Connect me to the Sheriff's Office, please ma'am." A minute later the secretary at the station answered. "Afternoon Candie, this here is Jackson Prewitt over at the freight station. Put me through to Officer Ed Mills…"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"I ain't a gamblin' man…" Morris muttered, climbing into the driver's seat, "but I'm willin' to bet Jackson was lying through his teeth just now."

"Oh yes he definitely was…" Martha agreed.

Morris started up the truck and pulled out. "So – search warrant, huh?"

The Doctor seemed as if he was deep in thought, but he tore his eyes away from the dashboard and grinned at Morris. "Obviously you'd have trouble obtaining one of those without a bunch of questions that would alert certain people to our little investigation-"

"Damn right I would," Morris agreed.

"-and no doubt our friend Jackson is aware of that."

"No doubt…" Martha nodded.

"So he won't expect us to come back with one. But we _will_ be coming back. We need to search that train…"

"You think one of Mrs. Downey's parcels will be in one of them?" Martha asked, frowning. "But how will we know what we're looking for?"

"Those slips I pilfered don't exactly make sense," Morris offered. "Nothing in the cargo descriptions but gibberish."

"May I see them?"

They'd pulled up to the county hospital and were climbing out. Morris handed The Doctor the slips on the curb and he stood in the glaring sun studying them. He squinted hard, flipping through them slowly, then more rapidly. Morris and Martha looked on with curiosity.

"Deputy…this isn't gibberish. Oh, it looks that way to anyone untrained in intergalactic languages…"

"Beg pardon?" Morris was puzzled.

The Doctor suddenly popped himself on the head, his eyes widening to the size of dinner plates, his teeth clamped down in an animated snarl. "OH I'M SO _THICK!_" he exclaimed, causing several passers by to glance his way, scandalized.

"What in blue hell are you yellin' about, Doc?" Morris hissed, nodding to a woman (Mrs. McGreevy who owned the Blue Bell Café down the road a piece) reassuringly as she passed by gaping at The Doctor and Martha.

The Doctor brandished the slips at them both, his teeth still clamped and his eyes still big as saucers. "This is Krumann! The language of the Haemovariform – look!"

And he flipped through the slips again, pointing out what just looked like random scribbles to Morris. Martha took the slips from the Doctor and rifled through them herself, but he suspected she couldn't decipher it any more than he could.

"Okay…so what does it say?" she demanded, handing them back to The Doctor.

"They're coded, and they don't really make much sense in Krumann either, but the mere fact that it's the _language of the Haemovariform_, Martha…!"

He began to read them aloud, his mouth forming strange syllables. Morris felt like he was talking crazy. In fact, it briefly occurred to him that he was on a wild goose chase, being strung along by a couple of loons playing a really nasty joke on him and the whole town. If he hadn't seen some of these strange happenings with his own eyes, he might believe that to be true right about now. But he concentrated on The Doc and tried to keep an open mind.

"Roughly translated," he continued in plain English, "this one says 'key', this one says 'set', this one says…'target'…" he chewed his lip, the gears in that funny brain of his obviously turning these phrases over. He began to pace right there on the curb. "Key, set, target…key, set, target…?"

"What do the others say?" Martha ventured.

" 'Lock', 'light', and…'return'…"

"Key, set, target, lock, light, and return…?" Martha repeated blankly. Then she thought about it. Morris thought, too, but he truthfully was at a loss.

"I may be way off, but do those sound like steps to anyone? Like…actions you'd take if you were…I dunno…powering up a missile or something?" Martha muttered.

The Doctor stopped pacing and gaped at her with those giant eyes of his. Morris thought he saw something…tender…pass through them. And then the lanky man bounded into the petit woman and lifted her off her feet, spinning her around in a swift circle, squeezing her small body tightly to his. "Martha Jones, you're a _star!_" He set her down and took her face in his hands, and to Morris' shock, he kissed her lips.

Morris shifted on his boots awkwardly as The Doc kissed Martha for a moment like they were alone with nobody watching. Except there _were_ people watching. Townspeople who didn't take kindly to race-mixing and unruly behavior in the middle of the street. Morris just hoped his presence waylaid any thoughts of stirring up trouble.

Then Martha laughed and shrugged when The Doc stepped back. "What did I say?"

"Oh, you are _spot on_, Martha!" The Doctor launched into his excited realization again, the moment having passed, and resumed his pacing. "Think about it: if you were stuck with no transport and a faulty signal, light years away from home and desperately needed to get back to a war that you are _pretty much_ losing," his voice hitched up several octaves, "what would _you_ do?"

Morris frowned. Martha bit her lip.

The Doctor didn't seem to mind their lack of input. He beamed, gripping the air with his slender fingers. "You'd _build your own_ transport!" He wiggled his eyebrows. "Or at least…that's what I'd do."

"Alright, but how does that work?" Martha shook her head. "How could the Huma-veriform be building anything by receiving the parts in shipments for over a year? They've only just arrived, haven't they?"

"Time and space, Martha…" The Doctor ran a hand through his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. "Time and space…time and space…that Clade warrior crash landed in the 1880s…our friend crashed here only hours before we arrived…and that could mean…there's a third? Nooo! Yes? Wait a minute…ohhh, _think!_"

He gripped his hair.

"What's wrong, Doc?" Morris saw the expression of inner-turmoil on the man's face. He didn't get a good feeling about it.

"They're in my head…in my head sounding off bells and waving their arms and banging pots together so I _cannot think!_" He growled, both hands now clawing at his hair. If he kept at that, he wouldn't have any left.

"Doctor…" Martha stepped up to him and touched him on the arms, gently pulling so that he would let go of his hair. "Calm down. Focus. Just…take a breath…and tell me. What do you mean by 'a third'?"

The Doc actually listened to her, and if that kiss didn't put a big green light on a suspicion Morris had about the two of them, his softhearted obedience sure did. Just like a man to let a woman run him around when he was over the moon for her.

The Doc let go of his hair, looking down at her, and inhaled slowly. Then swallowed and said quietly (so Morris had to step closer to hear): "I think Werewolf Number One sent out a distress signal before he landed. Perhaps even that the one broadcasting the wavelength also broadcasts an SOS hidden on another frequency," he explained, looking up at the sky now, "and I think it was picked up."

"You think another one of them landed here a year ago?" Martha asked.

The Doctor looked down at her. "Possibly far longer. It's the only explanation for the timing, Martha. One of them is here, and has been constructing that transport for a while. Years, even. Someone with power, someone with connections, someone who's been meticulously planning this, with hired help, hushed up with money or under some sort of promise of reward. Now all the pieces are nearly in place. And that person will remain pulling the strings in secret until the perfect moment."

The Doctor's eyes met Morris'.

"The Mayor pre-signs all of the cargo slips when he's sworn into the office, doesn't he? Most government officials do."

"Yeah, his initials are on all of them, but that don't prove he's behind this." The look on Martha's face told him she wasn't buying it – and truthfully neither was he. In his gut, Morris knew the truth. But The Doctor took it a step further.

"Look at his initials, Martha." He handed Martha the slips.

She took them and read them aloud: "H.L.W."

"Henry Lawson White," Morris informed.

"Or…" The Doctor raised his eyebrows, a pointed look in his expression. "Everything we've been fighting against, Deputy. Haemovariform. Lupine. Wavelengths."


	23. Chapter 23

**If you find yourself a teensy bit confused reading this, don't worry. All will unfold in next installments. The Doctor, Ed, and everyone else has specific reasons for doing/saying what they do/say. Everyone has a part to play. Thanks for reading and all of your kick ass reviews!**

* * *

**XXIII**

"Come on now, Boomer…" Homer sighed as he ushered old Denton 'Boomer' Willis down onto the cuff station bench and secured him to the post. The old bastard stank to high heaven of whiskey. "It ain't even two o'clock yet and you're already so drunk you're probably seein' double right now. You just sit right there till I get you processed."

"I ain't done nothin' wrong…!" Boomer gurgled into his salt and pepper beard. He hiccupped. "That there cow is mine and I got a right to milk her if I wants to!"

Homer shook his head with pity. "You know good an' well that wasn't no cow, Boomer, that was Reverend Houston's _wife!_ Damn woman was traumatized!"

"Like I said," Boomer hiccupped again and wiped his mouth with his free hand, "a big fat ole cow!" And he wheezed with laughter, revealing his missing teeth. "She'll be singing about _that_ in church come Sunday, won't she officer! Hee-hee, _ooh wee!_"

Homer tried his best not to laugh as Boomer guffawed and slapped his knees with glee, but finally he had to turn away so that his smirk could break through unseen. Old Denton Willis was the town drunk. He was so old some folk spread it around that he was nearly a hundred, but nobody really knew the exact count of years he'd been stumbling around on God's good Earth. He'd been a boozy imbecile since Homer could remember, though some folks claimed he came from wealth. Well that wealth was nowhere to be found these days. The Depression probably took care of whatever money he did have, anyway. He was skinny, brittle, dirty, and drunk from sun up to sun down. But he was harmless…or at least he wasn't violent. Lifting the Reverend's wife's skirt in the Circle K general store and squeezing her buttocks 'til she squealed like a pig was about as troublesome as he got. Truth be told, Homer reckoned she deserved it a little bit. Rumor had it she was making regular trips over to the Negro side of the county, 'ministering' to the no good juke joint regulars. Homer suspected she was really getting those ample buttocks of hers waxed by one of those filthy…

Homer's smile faded when he noticed their secretary, Maureen 'Candy' Johnson (bosoms like cantaloupes and thighs smooth as buttermilk, that Candy) patch a call through to Ed's desk.

"Ed, you got an urgent call from Jackson down at the freight station. Put him through?"

"Yeah Candy." Ed and Homer exchanged looks and Homer came to lean next to Ed's desk as he took the call. "This is Officer Mills – what can I do for ya, Jackson?"

Homer paid attention to Ed's facial expression as he and Jackson talked. They'd been paying Jackson off the books for months now to make sure the Mayor's shipments were coming through. The Sheriff was supposed to make sure no one could trace the trail, but that all changed when they found out what he was really up to. To cover his ass, he'd had slips made – a paper trail that would lead back to the Mayor, himself, and Calhoun. Mayor didn't want to take a chance that he'd use the information against them. They had no idea where he hid the evidence; he refused to speak before they disposed of him. Now they were desperate. If they didn't find those slips, they were hung for sure.

Homer was hoping Jackson had found something.

But he was quickly let down when he saw Ed's face harden with anger and alarm.

"You sure about that?" he uttered between clenched teeth, eyeing Homer meaningfully. "And that doctor was with him? Did they say when they'd come back with it?" There was a pause as he listened, then he turned his body until it was facing away from Candy's desk and lowered his voice. "Look – they ain't comin' back with _shit_, you hear? Morris ain't goin' after no search warrant. If he's got those slips, he knows who's behind all this – and if he knows that, he knows ain't no way in hell he's gonna get a warrant without callin' attention to himself."

Homer's heart skipped a beat; adrenaline began pumping mercilessly through him as he listened to Ed's harshly whispered words. Shit. Holy merciful Jesus. Morris had the slips.

"You just sit tight, all right Jackson? Don't say _anything_ to _anybody_ til I get back to you."

He slammed the phone down. Homer stepped closer to him. "What the hell is going on, Ed?" he hissed, trying not to panic.

Ed flexed his jaw, opening his drawer and removing a box of bullets for his gun. "That doctor and his nigg*r went down to the station with Morris. They're looking for a paper trail, Homer. That means they got the ones Sheriff Downey hid. That means they're onto the Mayor, and it won't be long til they're onto you, me, and this whole operation!"

Homer looked around sharply, gesturing for him to keep his voice down. Boomer was howling some awful hillbilly song he didn't even know the proper lyrics to over at the cuff station. Candy was typing away at her desk, popping gum to herself obliviously. The other officers were fixing coffee and chatting amongst themselves, sniggering at Boomer's drunken antics.

"_Fuck me runnin'_, this ain't good…" Homer wiped sweat from his brow as he watched Ed load his gun and holster it. "We gotta get this under control, fast boy."

"Jackson said they been helping out at the hospital. I'm goin' down to there, see how much they know."

"We gotta warn the Mayor."

"He'll kill us both if we screw this up."

Homer sighed and nodded. "Yeah – but he should know. Think he won't kill us if he finds out we're keepin' something like this from him?"

Ed looked reluctant, but relented. "Alright, but you tell him we got this _under control_."

They walked out of the station, telling Candy they'd be back later, and conspired as they made it to the Lincoln and climbed in. "We gotta be smart about this. Chances are Morris ain't figured out we're involved – yet," Homer rationalized as Ed started the engine. "The device is almost ready. All we gotta do is wait for the Mayor. We got the last piece, all we need is to _keep_ this shit under control until he gets here."

"You don't think they found it, do you?" Ed asked.

"Not if Jackson did his job. Morris ain't gonna get no search warrant, so he'll probably try to sneak onto the tracks after hours."

"So I'll make nice. Pretend like I want to help. My brother was attacked – I can use him as an excuse."

"Then what?"

Ed stared at the passing landscape as they drove. "We get rid of 'em. All of 'em. This is almost over and I'll be damned if I let that Limey and his bitch screw it up for me!"

They decided to split up. Homer would go to the tracks, put in a call to the Mayor, and make sure Jackson had secured the device. Ed would go to the hospital to head off Morris and The Doctor. As they parted ways (Ed dropping him off down the road from the freight station), Homer found himself praying.

Or something close to it. Certainly _hoping_ with all his might. He had to admit he was legitimately scared. He'd been living in fear for months now. Afraid of the future; afraid of going to hell (even though he wasn't religious – funny how such dark deeds twisted things around); afraid that the Mayor would go back on his promise. Afraid of messing up and getting 'dealt with' just like Sheriff had been. Afraid to go to sleep, else he'd see Sheriff's terrified death mask of a face after they hung him by his own belt in one of the cells.

Now he was afraid that his deeds were catching up with him. He felt he was running to stay two steps ahead of them. If he could make it through all this mess, and get to the reward Mayor White promised them, he wouldn't have to feel afraid anymore. He'd be a god among animals; just the way it was meant to be.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"So what do we do now?" Martha asked as they made their way into the hospital.

The Doctor was holding his breath, and didn't answer right away. She saw him exhale surreptitiously out of the corner of her eye. He took in a short breath after that, and his pupils danced with excitement for a moment but he seemed able to handle it. They ignored the nurses' station and headed straight for the small ward where their comatose patients were.

"I need the TARDIS," he muttered. "She may be able to lock onto an energy signal…"

"And we can use it to find the ship they're building, yeah?" Martha guessed.

"Bingo." He made a face. "Oh, _why_ can't I come up with another word? I'll be positively _jubilant_ when I'm well shot of this troublesome presence in my head! It's _ruining_ my language skills…!"

Martha couldn't help a smirk.

"There you are!" Doctor Lloyd greeted them anxiously. "It happened again while you were out – the patients had one of those episodes…"

"I know." The Doctor answered, to Martha's surprise. "The Haemovariform sense we're getting close; they're agitated, but they can't do anything about it now."

"Did you find those answers you were looking for?" Doctor Lloyd asked, nodding in greeting to Deputy Morris. "Because I'm at my wits' end, I must confess. Nothing I've tried sense you've been gone has worked. We could use some good news right about now, Doctor Smith."

"Better get started, then." The Doctor clapped his hands together and headed for the EEG machine and polarimeter. The machine was spinning faster than ever but it didn't seem to alarm him. He picked it up and tucked it under his arm, turning to face them all watching him. "Some tinkering with these babies and we're in business."

He handed the polarimeter to Martha.

"How are those gonna help?" Morris asked.

"They sure haven't been any use so far…" Lloyd muttered.

"_Some confidence, gentlemen!_" Then the Doctor griped at them, a bit like he was cooing at a litter of puppies. Then he stopped short and paused, his eyes narrowing past them to the doorway. Martha turned to look. There was no one there. She turned back to watch The Doctor, whose chin was lifted and whose eyes were wide and cautious. "Deputy…answer me this: can your man Mills be trusted?"

Morris seemed taken aback by the question. He hesitated. The Doctor remained eyeing the empty doorway, the machine tucked under his arm. "He's a temperamental egghead – but he was in those woods searchin' for the thing that attacked his brother like everyone else…" Morris concluded.

The Doctor now lowered his chin, but kept an eyebrow raised, his eyes still on the door. "I hope you're right…because he's here, and he's headed this way."

Lloyd looked utterly confused as to how The Doctor knew such a thing, but didn't receive a chance to question it. Ed Mills sauntered in a moment later. He spotted them all gathered there, waiting for him. His eyes narrowed at The Doctor and Martha, but he did little more than swallow thickly and clench his jaw. He turned his attention to Doctor Lloyd.

"I'm here to see my brother. How's he doin', doc?"

Doctor Lloyd cleared his throat and stepped forward. "Nothing's changed, I'm afraid officer. His condition remains stable, but…well we simply don't know when – or _if_ – he'll wake."

Ed swallowed again, and nodded solemnly. "What're _they_ doin' here?"

"We're here to help." The Doctor answered matter-of-factly.

Ed glared at him. "Where's my brother? I want to see him."

Doctor Lloyd escorted Ed to his brother's cot. Martha, The Doctor, and Morris followed. Martha got a good look at Ed's brother for the first time. She hadn't realized it until Ed was in her presence – but now she could see a strong resemblance there. The young man was Ed's junior by a few years. His hair was darker and he wasn't as muscular, but she had a feeling he was probably just as pigheaded. Still – she felt for the young man, despite herself. He must've been terrified when confronted with a giant werewolf (a sight he probably couldn't comprehend when it happened; which might've only compounded his fear).

Ed looked…softer…for just a moment, before turning his harsh gaze back towards them.

"I don't know what they been doin' to my little brother, but he's off limits from now on. I don't want them comin' anywhere near 'im!"

"With all do respect, officer-" Lloyd began.

Martha cut him off. "We've been working round the clock to _help_ him, not hurt him! And where've _you_ been, then?" she met his gaze head on.

The Doctor spoke up, rocking on his trainers. "No, it's alright Martha. Officer Ed here is just concerned about his brother; perfectly understandable."

Martha fought not to scoff loudly but said nothing more.

"In fact – why don't we give him a chance to visit, without all these pesky distractions, shall we?" He raised his eyebrows at her meaningfully and she nodded quickly as he reached out for her hand to lead her away.

"I ain't done with the two of you yet!" Ed barked.

"Calm down, Ed…" Morris commanded. "We need to talk."

"And I'll be back shortly," The Doctor assured Ed as they headed for the door. "You can hem and haw all you want then, alright? I'll be all ears!"

They left Ed seething after them, Morris and Lloyd exchanging glances as they turned their backs on them. Once they were out of earshot, Martha spoke up in a hiss: "I don't trust him."

The Doctor murmured: "Hmm…"

"Do _you_?" she demanded, watching him as they walked.

He glanced down at her sideways. "Let's just say I'm reserving judgment for the moment."

"And what's that supposed to mean, Doctor?"

"Means he may be useful." He shrugged and picked up his pace. "Come on, to the TARDIS. Morris can handle Ed for now. We've got work to do."

They made their way down to the east wing and slipped into the lift. When they hit the boiler room, The Doctor let go of her hand to fetch his TARDIS key. The warm, dark room loomed with shadows as they hurried through it towards the humming blue box tucked away in a corner against the brick wall. The Doctor opened the door and stood aside for her to slip in ahead of him. He dumped the EEG into the jump seat and started in on his dance around the console, bringing the old girl to life.

Martha felt comforted by being inside the ship, and she closed her eyes briefly to say hello. It was like being in a warm, safe, (albeit massive) protective bubble away from the dangers of the outside world. The racism, the death, the blood, the heat, and the struggle of it all melted away. She felt sure of herself in here; she felt normal – which was a bit strange but still true. The TARDIS was a reliable, constant fixture in her life, now. At times, even more so than The Doctor.

Now the coral room soon began to glow and hum as The Doctor flipped switches and turned knobs and pulled levers. He cracked his knuckles and slipped on his spectacles, removing his sonic to open a panel near the monitor (which he adjusted to get a better look at it).

Martha watched him duck his head and begin his fiddling, the sonic tucked between his teeth at one point, then aimed and whirring the next.

He reached out a hand towards the device on the jump seat and she handed it to him.

He began to pull wires from the open panel and cracked open the machine, then he routed them together with his sonic; his squinting eyes focusing on the task at hand. Martha watched him, wondering how difficult it was for him to focus now; if the Haemovariform were still "making noise, waving their arms, and banging pots together" to stop his thought process. She fancied she understood how frustrating that was for him – a man who's mind was as vast and complicated as space itself – not to be able to use his intelligence after so long of sort of taking it for granted. He seemed to be coping okay for the moment.

She realized that he was looking up at her, the sonic between his teeth.

"What?" she asked, as he frowned at her thoughtfully.

He removed the screwdriver from his mouth and concentrated on his work again, but he muttered: "You look lovely today."

Martha smiled softly, suddenly feeling a blush bloom in her cheeks.

"I mean…n-not that you don't _always_ look lovely…" he stammered, really concentrating on sonicking the EEG now. "It's just that that particular shade of blue goes rather nice with your skin tone."

"Thank you," she said gently, coming to stand near him, resting the polarimeter on the console in front of her. She watched him some more, rather pleased that he'd noticed.

"Ah – good thinking, I need that." He plucked the polarimeter from her hands and began to fiddle with it, too.

Martha tried not feel disappointed. He had never given her a direct compliment like that before. It was progress, even as he moved on from it quickly as usual. She knew it was hard for him. That the night by the creek was probably the most open and honest he'd ever been with her, and she had to be grateful for that. She had promised herself she wouldn't expect any more, especially not when they still had so much work to do here. It had to be enough, for now. She could deal with not knowing whether there would ever be any more. For now. She decided to do him a favor and move on, too.

"So do you still think Sheriff Downey was murdered?" She gestured thoughtfully, "What did you call it? That Black Market Suicide thing?"

"Don't you?" he paused long enough to raise a questioning eyebrow at her.

She thought about it for a moment. "But who d'you think did it?"

"Hard to say."

"I'll bet it was that Officer Mills." Martha hypothesized darkly. "Something about him – apart from being a racist prat – rubs me the wrong way."

"You could be right."

"So why are you 'reserving judgment' then?"

"I told you, everyone has their uses."

"That's not a reason, Doctor."

"Alright, how's this: we don't have any proof."

Martha sighed. "Ok, that's as good a reason as any. Better than him being 'useful', I suppose."

"Ah – see!" He grinned. "My reasoning skills aren't _completely_ rubbish, yet."

She gave him a contrite look. "How's your head doing?"

He waved a hand dismissively but she could tell he was just as concerned as she was. "It's tolerable for now," he answered honestly. "But I have a feeling it'll get worse the closer we get to solving this Scooby Doo mystery. I'm _very much_ looking forward to pulling Mayor White's mask off. I want to see what nasty thing is lurking under there."

"Whoever murdered Downey, d'you think it was on his orders? Because of those slips, even?"

"Probably," he muttered, still tinkering. "There probably wasn't supposed to be a paper trail."

"You mean – you think the Sheriff switched sides unexpectedly? _That's_ why they killed him?"

"It's possible."

As much as Martha appreciated him letting her take the lead on the 'reasoning' part this time, she was starting to get impatient with the two-word answers. Still, she carried on.

"And they're looking for those slips…they can't risk anyone knowing about them." She felt a chill go through her. "If they find out _we've_ got them, Doctor…"

"Don't worry about it just yet, Martha." He looked at her solemnly, his expression resolute. "I won't let anything happen to you."

"I know." Martha answered quietly. They stared at each other for a moment until he started moving again.

He moved around a bit more, flipping switches, patting the console affectionately, ducking into compartments and pulling out more wires and screws and various bits of her to use. Martha had no idea what he was up to, but she chose to use the time to think about things a bit more. Analyze them as best she could – try her best to pick up the slack where brains were concerned. Granted, she was no match for The Doctor intellectually, but hers was a different kind of intelligence. She could hold her own, and after all, that was her responsibility in this partnership. She was there for a reason – he needed her as she needed him, leaving out the fact that they loved each other (Martha's heart fluttered when those words materialized in her mind; she could hardly believe them).

"This 'bonding' thing just doesn't make much sense, when you really think about it." He waited for her to finish her thought. "I mean – how could it be so easy for you to manipulate that werewolf in the beginning, but now it's like your telepathy has turned against you?"

"Told you, that was before I was infected. And there are many more minds linked up now. It's like a rubber band ball." He clutched at an invisible 'ball' with his slender fingers to demonstrate, his eyes lifted up at her over his glasses. "You start out with one little knot, and that's all fine isn't it? But add a few more bands, and a few more, and the mass gets bigger and thicker and bouncier. Then you've got a much different beast."

"Okay…but for argument's sake, could it work the other way round?"

The Doctor actually stopped what he was doing then, standing upright and giving her his full attention. "Go on…"

Martha came to stand next to him, looking up into his eyes. "This might sound silly…" she warned. He gestured that he was all ears. "Well say it's like a song getting stuck in your head. And try as you might, you can't get rid of it – in fact the harder you try _not_ to think about it, the worse it gets, right?" She licked her lips, her mind working, turning her hypothesis over. "It drives me barmy when that happens, but the only thing that ever works is if I hear another catchy song. Then it gets stuck there in place of the one before it. So – why can't we just do that? Replace the song?"

The Doctor's eyes blazed and he stared at her. She thought he looked angry at first, but then he grinned. "Oh…_oh Martha Jones_…oh I could kiss you!"

And he did. He leaned down, scooped her up against him with one arm, and kissed her very slowly and tenderly. Martha felt heat flush through her from head to toe, and she moaned softly as The Doctor pressed himself into her, deepening the kiss. He nudged her lips apart with his tongue and squeezed her bum, bowing her over slightly, his sonic hand hanging loosely at his side.

When it was over he stepped back and began to pace anxiously. The kiss energized him it seemed, when it had made her a bit sluggish with desire. Martha felt that was a bit unfair – until she noticed a slight bulge in his trousers as he moved about. She chewed her lower lip mischievously and tried to pay attention.

"Ohhh that is _brilliant!_ 'Cause the bond is many minds linked together, yeah? So say we do as you suggest and gather a bunch of minds of our own! Say we get a whole mess of people to counter it, to drown it out!"

"Drowning out one bad song with another." Martha agreed. "D'you think that'll work?"

"It probably won't stop it, but it _could_ weaken it! It could buy us time, Martha, precious time."

"Well, who do we get? Just anyone?"

"No, not just anyone…" The Doctor stopped pacing and ran a hand through his hair. "It's a telepathic field after all." He snapped his fingers suddenly. "_Sweet Mama_, oh that precious, relentless little clairsentient! She'll do! And maybe…ahhh yes! Maybe we can use their 'chosen one', their 'Alpha' against them as well!"

"Doctor, are you sure about this?" Martha didn't like to second-guess herself, but she also didn't want anyone getting hurt because of her, least of all Sweet Mama or anyone at the GYST House.

"Absolutely not, but it's all we've got at the moment." The Doctor came to stand before her again. "Besides, Martha…there is something much bigger at play here, and anything we can use as a distraction while I try to figure that out will help."

"What can I do?" Martha squared her shoulders.

"The message must be clear, and the timing has to be perfect. You go and round up Sweet Mama, and Mister John, Chester – everyone from the GYST House. They're all a family in that house; they have their own kind of bond, you see? We need a gathering place; some kind of symbolic place of communion."

"A church?"

"A CHURCH!" His shouting startled her but she recovered quickly. "Anything that can help get their minds focused on a common purpose is goooood. In this case worship, or…"

"Music?"

"MUSIC, yes!" She didn't jump this time. "Tell Chester to get his guitar, tell Sweet Mama to gather up her choir and get ready to take up residence in the church!"

"And where are _you_ going?"

The Doctor picked up his new toy, a sort of EEG/Polarimeter hybrid infused with bits of the TARDIS. Martha could see a pulse echoing across the monitor now, and the EEG spun in time with it. Clever.

"_I'm gonna hunt me down a Hooma-vary-form spaceship!_" He did his best American Southerner accent and gave her a sloppy kiss on the cheek.

"_Allons-y!_" he ordered behind him as he dashed down the ramp and out into the boiler room.

"Doctor!" Martha had followed him into the lift and then back out into the hospital corridors upstairs, but now she stopped stubbornly in her tracks. She opened her mouth, but couldn't figure how to explain that she sort of dreaded being separated from him again. Normally, it would be fine (they often had to do that to cover more ground, it was just a part of why they made such a good team), but so much had changed between them since the last time they were separated like this. She had no idea if they were at a place where these kinds of feelings should be cropping up when they had so little time and so much at stake, but she couldn't help it. He would either understand or he would dismiss it. Martha really knew that things had changed when she realized she was hoping very much that he understood – and that he felt the same way.

He stopped and turned to face her. Mercifully, didn't seem to need her to explain herself.

The Doctor picked Martha up and held her tightly in both arms, driving her worry away with tenderness and comfort, ignoring the staff's disapproving stares.

"I told you, Martha Jones…I won't ever let anything happen to you." He spoke softly into her ear.

"And what about you?" she whispered into his jacket collar. "What if you get hurt again?"

"I'll take care of myself, I promise. We've still got a lot to talk about, you and me." He gave her a squeeze, sat her down, and winked at her. She tried not to let the implications of that statement interfere with concentrating on her mission. "Meet you back at the church by nightfall, promise."

"But...it's not a full moon yet. D'you think something's going to happen _tonight?_"

His eyes glinted with ominous darkness for a split second but he didn't lose his smile. "Better get a move on, eh?"

Understanding that he meant not to explain any further, she nodded and they went their separate ways.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"He ain't ever wakin' up is he?" Ed muttered, staring at his brother.

Doctor Lloyd and Morris exchanged glances. "We…we just don't know. It is…unlikely at this point." Lloyd supplied empathetically.

"He wanted to be a deputy, like me and our daddy before he died. Now look at him." He turned to glare at Morris. "This is your fault, Hugh!"

Doctor Lloyd looked scandalized but Deputy Morris wasn't all that surprised at the outburst. "You think it's my fault your brother's in a coma, huh? I'd love to hear how."

Ed stood up from the stool near the cot and approached him. "I told you, that Brit doctor has somethin' to do with all this! Hell, none of this shit started happenin' until he walked into town. Yet you're actin' like he's your boss or somethin', following 'im around like a fuckin' lapdog!"

"You got no idea what in hell you're talkin' about, boy." Morris shook his head. "You're upset, I understand that, but there are bigger things going on here than your bruised ego. You want to be a Sheriff someday? Then act like one! Use your brain, son!"

"Oh yeah, what's that supposed to mean? Want me to go off shakin' hands with nigg*rs and kissin' foreigners' asses, huh? That's your idea of actin' like a proper Sheriff?"

"Fellas, some restraint, please? Let's not have a scene in my medical ward." Lloyd requested.

"_Nooo_, we can't have that!" The Doctor interrupted, sauntering in with his new device slung over his shoulder, an amused grin on his face and a hardened glint in his eyes. "Especially not when there's so much to be getting on with!"

"I've just about had enough o'you, mister!" Ed grunted.

"Weellll, that's a shame because I was rather hoping we could let bygones be bygones long enough to see your brother and every other innocent person in this ward out of this mess…" The Doctor muttered, feigning disappointment and giving a little pout. "What d'you say, eh?" He gave Ed a penetrating gaze that Morris and Lloyd could only stand back and marvel at.

Ed stood his ground, still riled up, and glared back.

"Of course…I could just find out on my own." The Doctor continued, his gaze unblinking. The ward was very still in that moment, the breathing of the patients the only sound penetrating their silent standoff. "And then I can't be held responsible for the consequences. I'd advise you to choose a side _now_, Edward. Because it's going to get very ugly, very fast."

"What the hell are you talkin' about?" Ed stalled, but Morris was starting to catch on. He looked at the two of them in turns – The Doctor's knowing gaze said he was unfooled while Ed's obstinate anger was beginning to chip on the surface; revealing a glimpse of indecision and…guilt.

"Ed, you didn't." Morris sighed.

"I didn't do jack shit!" the young officer barked, a bit hastily. "You're lettin' this asshole get in your head, Hugh. I swear I should just arrest you both and charge you for conspiracy, and-!"

"Oh, pipe down!" The Doctor snapped. "Conspiracy, _that's_ an ironic accusation, I'd say. Look around you! Look at your brother!" He jabbed a hand at the cot behind them, where Ed's brother was stuck, unconscious, in the grip of the Haemovariform.

Ed fumed, but said nothing. Morris watched him, righteous anger brimming within him. Lloyd looked on, trying to hide how confused he was at the exchange. There were two nurses in the room checking patients, but neither of them were being especially stealthy about eavesdropping as the scene unfolded.

"Doc," Morris spoke up, trying to be a voice of reason, somewhat. "Before we go any further, let's be clear of what we're accusin' him of."

The Doctor glanced at Morris as though he pitied him, but his fiery gaze quickly returned to Ed.

"Like I said outside – our Mayor White needed allies. And true to a corrupt politician's form, he probably had a spy within his network of goons. Someone to keep him posted, make sure things went smoothly…a hired thug, as it were – no offense Ed."

Ed looked about ready to deck The Doctor into the linoleum floor. But, oddly, he stayed put.

"It's just a hypothesis mind you, but I'm guessing that when Sheriff Downey failed to do the job up to scratch – or rather, when he turned out to have actual morals hidden under that thick coat of bile he projected on this county and its inhabitants – the good ole Mayor had our Ed here expose of him, yes?"

The Doctor's 'yes?' was not a question, but a rather stern prompt for the truth. Ed swallowed. The Doctor, seeing that as all the confirmation he needed, carried on.

"And that's not all, is it?" He raised his eyebrows authoritatively but didn't wait for an answer. "You're under his thumb. You've no choice. You have no idea what he's really up to, do you? All you know is that you're to secure the shipments and await further instructions. Take care of any problems that arise – like Downey, and me, and you, Deputy." He nodded his head at Morris almost apologetically. "And then – what? He'd reward you somehow, yeah? A great, big, shiny reward you couldn't possibly say no to! A reward in exchange for the slaughter and enslavement of millions of innocent people!"

Ed opened his mouth. Closed it. Clenched his jaw. "He promised to make me a general. Rich beyond any fat cat asshole on this whole planet…or…I'd die like everybody else." He finally admitted, lowering his eyes but losing none of his heated posture.

"Jesus…" Morris muttered, feeling sick.

"What would _you_ do, Hugh?" Ed stepped up to him, his eyes now beseeching. "Die like some dog? He's got my brother! What if it was Laurel, huh?"

The Doctor moved closer to them, ignoring Lloyd and everyone else. He towered over them both. His look of pity was now aimed at Ed. "You can change it. You can help me stop it. I can protect you, and your brother."

"He's all I got…" Ed said, as if admitting it shamed him.

The Doctor placed his free hand on Ed's shoulder. Good he did, because Morris was incensed.

"And I promise you," The Doctor insisted, "I won't let anything happen to him. I can locate that ship without you, but trust me, you _really_ don't want to be on the other side of this, Edward."

Ed looked from Morris to The Doctor, and then finally at his brother. He sighed hard. "What do you want me to do?"


	24. Chapter 24

**XXIV.**

Homer couldn't really explain how he knew these things.

Or he _could_ – but the explanation didn't make a lick of sense, so he kept it to himself.

He woke up the morning after that first meeting with the Mayor (or rather, the being that was posing as an ordinary man called Henry Lawson White) with his head filled with information. It was like something he'd dreamt of, but unlike so many other elusive dreams, this didn't fade. It stayed with him during his waking hours. A powerful civilization far and beyond anything he could ever imagine on his own. A language that no one on Earth could dream up. And the scattered pieces of a device that would quickly (and mercilessly) end life on this planet as he knew it once it was finally activated.

He suspected that Ed must've had a similarly mysterious implantation of knowledge; how else could he also know these things?

Most of the time, Homer tried not to think about it. He tried not to delve too deeply into the meanings behind or consequences of a lot of what was floating around in his mind, otherwise he would likely break down – just as Sheriff Downey had. The old man thought too much about what they were doing; he examined things too closely, when he ought to have just done what he was supposed to do and collected the payoff.

That's what Homer and Ed did – that's why they were both still alive. They focused on how this endeavor would benefit them in the long run, rather than on how many lives they would sacrifice and how much destruction they would cause to get there.

Just like with any undertaking, there were setbacks. But, aside from Sheriff's unfortunate change of heart (and having to be dealt with because of it), they were lucky to have relatively few.

Until of course, that Doctor fella came into town.

Ed and Homer (and Sheriff, before he had to get all righteous and moral) had been waiting for the arrival of the first strike – and it came, just like Mayor White said it would. All they were supposed to do then was let the thing do its work, pretend to search for it like lawmen ought to, but stay out of its way.

But that Doctor came at the same time, and he knew so much, and he threw everything off balance. Now Morris, who had been blessedly oblivious throughout most of this (or just apathetic to do anything about whatever he suspected was going on) was sticking his nose were it didn't belong, and the device was compromised, and things were moving faster than they were supposed to be.

That Doctor was trouble. Real, deep trouble. Homer wasn't a superstitious person, but he got the heebie jeebies from that fella. Not just because of the way he carried himself, or the uncanny grasp he seemed to have on things, but mostly because Mayor White had taken great interest in him when Ed first told him about the Doctor's presence.

"Leave him," said the Mayor in his steely voice. "But do not let him find the device, under any circumstances."

Well a fat lot of good those instructions had done. They left him alone, and what happened? He came _this_ close to finding the device!

Now Homer was determined to get _clear-cut_ instructions, none of that mysterious bullshit that got them in this mess in the first place. The Mayor's voice gave him the chills, every time, but every time he got better at hiding it. It wasn't the kind of voice that Southern politicians (or any politician, come to think of it) usually had – that preachy, "I'm just like you, vote for me" kind of talk. No, his voice held menace; held an underlying coldness that cut deep down to a man's bones. Yet – and this was the truly puzzling part – he had managed to convince the people at every town hall he visited, every stump trail he traveled that he was the one to vote for. Homer suspected it didn't matter a lick what he actually said (that in itself troubled him as well). He just had this…_way_ about him. People listened to him like he was the only one in the world worth hearing. They became hypnotized by him, so much so that a raging skeptic could transform into a devoted lamb at the end of one speech. Everyone said he would win the election by a landslide. Homer believed it.

Of course, with what was coming, it hardly seemed to Homer that the election mattered at all.

No, Mayor White was readying those towns and their people for something far greater. He sometimes couldn't help picturing the way cattle farmers cajoled the livestock into pens to march to slaughter.

He put these thoughts aside, however, and concentrated on making the call. He'd sent Jackson to check that the shipments they'd hidden remained secure, and dialed the operator to connect him to the office in Little Rock where the Mayor had temporarily set up camp for his town hall meeting there.

After a few minutes of waiting, finally that cold, menacing voice came over the line.

"Homer Pike," it said, and Homer had to fight a shiver at the way the man always said his full name like he was a _thing_ and not a person. "What can I do for you?"

"Uh, sir, there's a…problem." He mentally scolded himself – he was a lawman, damn it. He'd better act like it; put some bass in his voice. Just because he was in this man's employ, that was no reason to stutter like a teenager. All hollow conclusions, of course, because this man was not _merely_ a man. Homer knew that to his core. Fear was an appropriate response; his mind's instincts singing to him.

He waited. A second later, in an almost bored tone, the Mayor answered: "Our Doctor has been busy."

It wasn't a question. Homer fought another shiver.

"Yes, sir. He's got Deputy Morris snoopin' around for him. They came down to the station today and interrogated Jackson Prewitt. They found the freight slips, sir, and-"

"Do you imagine, Homer Pike, that this man has any idea what those freight slips mean?" Mayor White interrupted coolly. "Do you think, for one moment, that he would be capable of deciphering the language of my people?"

Homer paused, uncertainly. This felt like a trick question.

"Well…" he stammered. "It surely ain't a _good_ thing, sir. I mean, that's why we had to dispose of Sheriff Downey, isn't it?"

Mayor White chuckled. That, too, was a disturbing sound. "Sheriff Downey was making plans to expose us. We know his mind better than you could imagine, and it would not have been long before he used his knowledge of our plans to betray us."

Despite himself, Homer gulped. "Okay, but if this Doctor fella continues like he is, he might find the…the device, sir, and you said to keep him away from it."

"Ah, yes, you finally reach the point." Mayor White paused, and Homer waited, anxious. "That, as you say, definitely 'ain't good'."

A flash of anger at being mocked whipped through Homer but he kept his mouth shut.

Another pause, and this time Homer instinctively knew that he was doing his extrasensory thing – that _thing_ he sometimes did just before he said something that there was no way in hell he should know.

"You have sent Edward Mills as a spy."

It always floored Homer when he did that. Creeped him out but good.

"Yes, sir. He's probably with them, now."

"The Doctor has not found the device. You have secured it."

"Yes, sir."

"And the specimens in the hospital ward are still intact."

Homer disliked the way he referred to the people of this town – people he grew up with, watched over, spoke to almost every day – as 'specimens'. But then, thinking like that had gotten Sheriff Downey strung up by his own belt in a filthy holding cell. Best he kept his mind away from those kinds of thoughts.

"As far I as I know, they are."

"Good." The Mayor sighed. "This is happening much earlier than we planned, but perhaps we can use it to our advantage. The device needs final testing, and what better time than now? We see The Doctor coming. We see he has believed what we have meant for him to believe; he is simply much faster at making his way through our little maze than we anticipated."

The Mayor sometimes spoke in plurals, as if he was speaking on behalf of a group, and not just himself. This, above all, unsettled Homer the most.

"Let him come, but _do not let him near the device, do you understand?_"

A serious threat surged across the phone line, his voice like a snake's hiss, the meaning behind his words razor sharp. If Homer screwed this up, he was a dead man.

"Of course not! We'll take care of it, sir, you have my word."

"Good, Homer Pike. Do not let that imbecile Jackson Prewitt tamper with it, either. Now, heed these instructions to the letter: when Edward Mills leads The Doctor to you, capture him and keep him hidden. Hugh Morris will serve our hunger, as will anyone else foolish enough to join The Doctor."

Homer was confused. "You…you want me to keep them locked up for two days? People might get suspicious, don't you think?"

"You are not to question us, Homer Pike, you are to do _exactly_ as you are told!" growled the Mayor, making Homer's hairs stand on end. "But, you worry for nothing. I will not be there in two days. I will be there tonight. I have the final piece. We will conduct the final test on the device _tonight_."

The line went dead. Homer felt beads of sweat running along his hairline, yet he was chilled to the bone. He hung up the receiver and told himself to get on with it. To focus on the reward, and just…get on with it. When Ed showed up with that Doctor and Morris, he'd do exactly as he was told, alright.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Martha hitched a ride on the back of a lumber truck to where Mister John worked picking apples.

He had told her one night while they danced, and she memorized the name without knowing exactly what she'd need it for. She was glad she remembered it. The Lacey Orchard was on the outskirts of town, deeply set into a chunk of forest. Martha had to cut across a ridiculously vast field near the road to get to it. She hopped off the back of the truck and wiped off her skirt, waving in thanks to the driver as he blew his horn at her and pulled away, the lumber rattling and bouncing.

As she walked, she tried without success not to worry about The Doctor's foreboding expression before they split up. It wouldn't do to question him now – she had a job to do, and that was make sure John and the others came on board with their plan. But why _tonight_? There was something The Doctor wasn't telling her.

She made it across the field, and stepped into the trees. The shade was blessedly cool, after having to contend with the scorching heat of the late afternoon sun to get here.

She paused and looked up. This wasn't part of the forest that separated White Station and West Point. This was an apple grove, with rows upon rows of apple trees. The apples were round, and red, and shining. Martha remembered John telling her that the orchard owner, Edward Lacey, had brought the seeds down from Virginia and (despite people all over telling him he was a fool and would fail in his attempt to grow them here) turned this area into the only operating orchard in this part of the South.

It was a small business, he had said, but a successful one.

She was momentarily mesmerized by them, and walked with her head lifted up to admire the beautiful, full green trees and the hundreds of juicy red apples. The sight of them, while they enchanted her a bit, also reminded her that she and The Doctor hadn't actually taken tea today – they'd just gone straight to Morris' home from the hospital.

Then she heard voices, clapping, and singing. And Howlin' Wolf's guitar.

Martha sped up, making her way along the rows of apple trees (ignoring her temptation to snatch one down and bite into it) to find the source of the music. As she moved along, their voices and clapping became louder. They were all singing somewhat reverently, putting her in the mind of a Negro spiritual, but their voices were also light in tone.

_Hey, ho, makes you feel so fine!__  
__Lookin' out across the orchard in the bright sunshine!__  
__Hey, ho, you feel so free!__  
__Standin' in the top of an apple tree!_

She turned a corner and found herself in the midst of more tall apple trees; their ruby nectar swaying in a slight breeze that picked up suddenly. She saw in the distance, on either side of the row she was in, a series of tall ladders propped against several trees. She saw Howlin' Wolf sitting on top of an overturned crate in the middle of the row, picking his guitar, with two other blokes Martha didn't recognize stomping and clapping around him. But there were several other men standing in the ladders, picking apples and placing them in canvas sacks they had slung over their shoulders, also singing along.

_Up in the mornin' before the sun!__  
__Won't get home 'til the day is done!__  
__My pick-sack's heavy and my shoulder's sore__  
__But I'll be back tomorrow to pick some more!__  
_

Martha started to run. They hadn't spotted her yet. The men were all engrossed in their work and their song. As she closed the distance between them, the sun piercing the net of trees around her, she felt such fondness and caring for them all (even the ones she didn't know), and such fear for their safety. The Doctor's ominous look made her dread that something was indeed coming soon, and she was determined to see these men to the end of it alive. She cared for them a great deal; they had taught her so much – about herself, about hardship and love and solidarity. She hoped The Doctor was right about her theory. She hoped that these qualities could help them fight whatever was coming.

_Start at the bottom and you pick 'em from the ground!__  
__And you pick a tree clean, all the way around!__  
__Then you set up your ladder and you climb up high!__  
__And you're lookin' through the leaves at the clear blue sky!_

_Hey, ho, you lose your mind!__  
__If you sing this song about a hundred times!__  
_

They all laughed and Howlin' Wolf stood up, carefully placing his guitar in its case. He spotted her as she came to a breathless halt a few paces from them. "Miss Martha? Girl, what you doin' out here this time o'day?"

"Martha's here?" Mister John stuck his head out from under a tree branch and peered at her with a look of pleasant surprise.

Martha caught her breath and nodded in greeting to everyone. Then her eyes fell on Mister John's.

"I need to speak to you. It's important. It's about The Doctor, and our…problem."

His smile faded and he climbed down from the ladder, hauling his heavy pick-sack over his shoulder and dumping it near the root of the tree. "What's the matter?"

He came to a halt in front of her, towering over her, beads of sweat clinging to his forehead and neck. Martha swallowed and looked up into his face, trying to think of the best way to explain. She decided to come out and say it exact – no point beating around the bush.

"I'm sorry to bother you while you're working, but it's kind of urgent. The Doctor and I figured out a way to maybe drown out the wavelength – you know the telepathic thing he explained that first night?"

He nodded gravely, and seemed to be keeping up with her.

"Well, we think if we can gather enough people together, in someplace sacred, like a church, we can channel the telepathic energy and maybe throw off the signal enough to buy The Doctor some time."

"Time for what?'

Martha paused, feeling it – the sinking anticipation of eminent danger – acutely now.

"The Doctor wouldn't exactly come out and say it, but…I think we're in danger. Now. I think something is going to happen tonight. I don't know what. It's not exactly a full moon yet, but it's close enough, and…" she shook her head anxiously, "well, its better if we do this now, rather than find out that we were too late."

Mister John looked pensive for a while, then he nodded and turned to face the (by now) crowd of waiting men. "Boys. We got us a situation here. Won't ya'll gather round and hear Miss Martha out for a minute?"

"Boss say we ain't supposed to be takin' no unscheduled breaks, John," someone protested.

"This here is more important than what the boss say," Mister John answered authoritatively. " 'sides, I known that man since he didn't have nothin' and didn't have nobody. I helped him get this place off the ground, and I figure he'll make an exception this once. I'll take responsibility for the work we're missin' but right now ya'll need to listen up."

The men shuffled around and faced her, waiting. Martha took a deep breath.

"You all know about the animal attacks that happened a couple of weeks ago, yeah?" They muttered in the affirmative. "Well – it goes much deeper than that. There's a threat of _otherworldly_ proportions in this county. And if it succeeds, it won't just stop here. It'll spread, and countless people will die if we don't do something _now_."

Many of them (aside from Chester Howlin' Wolf, Mister John, and a couple of men she recognized from the G.Y.S.T. House) looked completely confused. Some looked fearful and some a little skeptical of what she was saying. Martha tried to think like The Doctor – what would _he_ say to convince them? Then she corrected herself. He had sent _her_ to do this. Martha could convince them on her own, she cared for them enough to tell them the plain truth. That counted for something, and he must've known that, otherwise _he_ would be standing here next to her, delivering this rally cry in his own words. She pressed on.

"This danger isn't just physical, it's mental. These creatures get inside your mind, and they use it against you. In order to stop them, we have to stick together, and stay close to each other. We have to…pray…and use what we know to fight them. You all have each other. And I think you all must look up to Mister John, don't you? You follow him. You listen to him. You _trust_ him. I'm asking you to do that now. We have to fight this thing, not just with guns, but with our minds and hearts. With all the things that are good about this place: the tradition, the spirituality, perseverance in the face of adversity. All your years of hardship have taught you to be strong and depend on each other. That's all I'm asking you to do. Please – will you help me and The Doctor fight this thing?"

"I will," said Howlin' Wolf. He stood next to his father.

"Me, too," said someone else.

"And me," said another.

One by one they all agreed. Martha was immensely relieved.

"I'll get my truck," said one man who'd been leaning against a tree with his arms crossed, looking the most skeptical of them all. "John, you can take some o'the boys in your carriage and I'll take the rest."

Then there was movement. The men all gathered up their pick-sacks and carried them to a nearby storage shed, where they carefully covered them and stored them there. John explained quietly that Lacey's house was 'way up the road a piece', so he likely wouldn't notice they were gone until much later.

He gave her a plump, shiny red apple.

She gratefully accepted it and followed them to the edge of the orchard, where they all split up: a group piling into the skeptical bloke's truck and a group climbing up into Mister John's carriage. Martha climbed up onto the front seat with a hand from him. He snapped the reigns and the horse got moving. Ahead of them, the truck roared to life and soon they were following it back down into White Station.

Howlin' Wolf sang.

_Goin' up to the church house_

_Baby I may not come home_

_Done a whole lotta sinnin'_

_Gon' be there all night long_

_Lord gimme strenth,_

_Lord set me right_

_Send me back to my baby_

_At the end o' this cold, dark night_

Martha held onto those words. She wasn't a religious person per se, but spending so much time with these men, and Sweet Mama, had added to her outlook. So she did a silent little prayer that they would make it out of this. That she could make it back to The Doctor.

She bit into the apple. It was juicy, warm, and sweet. She savored it.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

"Edward Mills, you're under arrest for conspiracy and murder!" Morris growled, taking a heated step towards Ed while reaching for his cuffs.

The Doctor reached a restraining hand out. Morris looked up at him, his eyes blazing with anger. The Doctor understood why he was doing this, and he was quite right, too. He felt foolish and angry for trusting Ed, who had so blatantly and casually betrayed him. He was determined to make up for his error in judgment. It was one of the signs that Morris was a good man. But it simply wasn't what needed to happen just yet.

"Hear me out, Deputy. I understand – you _should_ arrest him, but not yet."

"Doc, I've gone along with you this whole time, but this ain't your jurisdiction, you got that? This here is a matter of _law_, and he's guilty! He just confessed!"

"Hold on, Hugh – listen to the man!" Ed spoke up nervously, siding with The Doctor to save his own arse.

The Doctor shot him a cold look. "The less you say right now, Edward, the _better_." He snapped.

Ed swallowed and clamped his mouth shut, his nostrils flaring in agitation. He stood back and watched. The Doctor dragged his eyes away from the man disdainfully and returned his attention to Morris, speaking in a low tone.

"I need him."

"For _what_?" Morris snarled between clenched teeth.

But The Doctor couldn't just come out and explain exactly why he needed Ed around.

There was of course the fact that if The Doctor let him out of his sight, he was risking the chance that Ed would go after Martha.

But there was something else – something bigger.

Unbeknownst to them (including Martha) The Doctor was onto something. It happened the moment Doctor Lloyd told him about the patients' "episode" – and then Ed showed up. Suddenly, it was like the Red Sea had parted in his clouded mind, and he saw quite a few things very clearly. But the revelation flickered through his mind for a nanosecond; like a blink-and-you'll-miss-it blip on a radar screen. The Doctor quickly clamped down on it and locked it away – compartmentalizing it deep in the recesses of his mind, obscured by random memories that would be of little interest to the Haemovariform.

Because the second he made the connection, he understood what he had to do. That's where Ed came in.

Martha's plan to use the townspeople to drown out the wavelength was a brilliant one, and it would buy him time. There was still a large piece of the puzzle missing. He had little time to figure it out, because if what he was starting to deduce was right, things would be coming to a head very soon.

He grinned at Morris, not liking to have to mislead him, but knowing that if he played his cards right they'd be better for it, in the end.

"Information, of course."

"Doc, I think he's said enough. We got all the information we need, and I sure as shit ain't just gonna stand idly by while this murderer goes walkin' free!"

"I ain't no murderer!" Ed protested absurdly.

"The _hell you ain't_, boy!" Morris snapped.

"_Oi-yah…!_" The Doctor raised his hands for a time-out, feeling a bit like he was dealing with kindergarteners. "Be_have_! We haven't got time for this!"

Morris and Ed stood fuming at each other, but remained silent. The Doctor swung his head back and forth to eyeball them into submission, and seeing that they were heeding his protests for now, he ran a hand through his hair, puffing out his cheeks.

"Look – for now, we'll just say he's under your protective custody, Deputy. We'll keep an eye on him, we'll even disarm him, see?" He reached out and snatched Ed's weapon from its holster in one, swift movement. He waved it at Morris, emptied the bullets onto a medical cart, and handed it over. "Disarmed."

Morris took the pistol without much enthusiasm, but seemed at least somewhat satisfied that Ed wasn't armed anymore.

"I promise Deputy Morris, once this is all over you can lock him up and throw away the key, alright?" More fuming, and a barely perceptible nod of compliance. "Good. Now. Like I said, we haven't much time. So, I'll tell you what you can do, Officer Mills: start talking."

Ed swallowed, not liking being ordered around by The Doctor one bit. "I already told ya everythin' I know."

"You mean you confessed after the Doc here figured it out despite of ya," Morris muttered angrily.

"Now…you two…" The Doctor warned, using his scolding schoolteacher voice again. "Stop it."

Then he paused, as a voice was wafting toward him from somewhere in the hospital. He turned to face Doctor Lloyd, who'd been watching the exchange with great interest. He now gave The Doctor a puzzled look. "What is it?"

The Doctor pursed his lips, his ears perking up. The voice was familiar, and yet not. It sounded like it was floating towards him on a radio frequency, rather than the owner being physically in the building.

"Radio broadcast?" He looked back to Lloyd. "Who's got a radio?"

Lloyd stammered for a moment. "The nurses keep one at their station, I believe. But…what are you…?"

The Doctor sidestepped him and followed the voice. He knew they couldn't hear it yet, and wouldn't be able to until they found the nurses' station, but he didn't have time to explain. He strode out into the hall, and the voice became clearer and clearer the closer he got. They followed him reluctantly, all being confused as to why he abandoned their argument.

The voice was using a cadence that very much suggested to him this person was giving a speech of some kind. But that wasn't what drew him. He _did_ know that voice. Even though he'd never physically heard it before, the instincts it aroused in him were unmistakable. It had a distinctive lure to it…as if, hidden under the cool, confident, somewhat imperial tone…there was a message. For him. They reached the nurses' station and thankfully that awful Head Nurse Tucker wasn't about.

"Hello!" The Doctor greeted cheerfully, startling the three nurses that were gathered around the station, listening to the little tube radio half-hidden under one of their desks. "Could you turn that up, please?"

"Turn it up, Barbara," Lloyd instructed when one of the nurses looked to him for permission.

"_We are bordering each other, why shouldn't we support each other? The people of Arkansas and the people of Mississippi are kindred. I intend to run for Governor of Mississippi, and if I am elected, I will work with your Governor to bring our two states together like never before. There are great things ahead – great tests. Some of us will understand what must be done to reclaim the honor and pride of the great South. Some…will try to supplant our faith in the Lord and our heritage. But they shall fail. Have I your word, Little Rock, that you support our victory?"_

There was massive applause, and then a radio host's voice sounded over the din:

"_That was Mayor Henry Lawson White, and the last of his great town hall speech here in Little Rock, Arkansas. I believe he's one of the first men to take his race to the Governor's seat across state lines, but you heard it hear folks – he intends to unite the Southern states – we're talkin' Mississippi, Georgia, Arkansas, Alabama, Tennessee, Louisiana, even Texas! – and bring about what he calls 'a new era of brotherhood'. Quite the radical idea, or is he on to somethin'? What do you think that leaves in store for Arkansas? We want to hear from you at W5RW, Little Rock. And now a message from our sponsors…"_

One of the nurses switched off the radio, glancing at Lloyd apologetically. "Sorry, Doctor Lloyd. We wanted to hear the Mayor's speech. The patients like listening to him, too."

"Not to worry, Barbara, thank you."

They followed The Doctor around a corner for some privacy. Then Lloyd, Morris, and Ed turned to him for explanation, but he was standing stone still, his face as white as a sheet.

"What is it, Doc?"

"This is bigger than I thought..." The Doctor finally focused on them all, realizing that they genuinely failed to grasp what they'd just heard. "You really don't know, do you?"

They stared at him.

"That was Mayor White – the mayor of a backwoods town in Mississippi – talking about _succeeding the Southern states from the rest of the Union_, and that doesn't strike you as _odd_…?"

Lloyd frowned. "That's been his agenda this whole time. The war, the Depression – everyone's gotta take a side, Doctor."

The Doctor shook his head in disbelief. He understood, now. The complacent, almost glazed over looks they were giving him told him all he needed to know. Mayor White could've said he wanted to advocate drafting chimps for the Army, and it wouldn't matter. He had a choking telepathic hold on them. And not just the inhabitants of this county, or Mississippi.

"What states did he say?"

"Georgia, Mississippi, Alabama, Tennessee-?" Lloyd began, watching as the Doctor's face turned into a mask of horror and realization.

"Luisianna, Arkansas, and Texas!" he shouted, turning around in a circle and slapping himself on the forehead. "Ed, he's been traveling across these states for how many months?" He demanded. "HOW MANY!" The Doctor raged when Ed looked unwilling to say.

"I don't know – almost a year?" Ed finally admitted.

The Doctor glared at him with cold fury, making the young officer falter under his gaze. "Ohhh, this is not good. This is not good at all! 'Cause if he's on the radio, if he's stopping at town hall after town hall, that means he's had an entire year to infect hundreds – _thousands_ – of people across _six_ states!"

"Infect? How? Wouldn't he hafta…change?" Morris muttered so that the nurses wouldn't hear. "I mean, he has to wait for a full moon, don't he?"

The Doctor eyed Ed meaningfully over Morris' shoulder. "_Does_ he?"

"What the hell are ya askin' _me_ for! I told ya I don't know! All I did was what he told me to do!"

"Right. Of course…hired _thug_." The Doctor said the last word with disgust, clenching his teeth. "Then it looks like I'll have to find out the hard way…" He ran a hand through his hair and started towards the hospital entranceway.

"What's the hard way?" Morris demanded, striding to keep up with him. Ed and Lloyd followed.

The Doctor kept going, and said without looking back "I need a word with Sheriff Downey."

"But Doctor Smith, didn't I just here you, not five minutes ago, accuse Officer Mills of _murdering_ the Sheriff?" Doctor Lloyd hissed as he struggled to keep up with them.

The Doctor swung around and glared at him. "Doctor Lloyd, I need you to _stay here_." He ordered. Lloyd opened his mouth to vehemently protest, but The Doctor cut him off before he could. "I need you to quarantine those patients – _no one_ goes in or out of that ward at all, do you understand? At the first sign of trouble, evacuate the other patients and the staff to the boiler room and shut down the lifts just as quickly as you can. The TARDIS' telepathic shield will protect you until I can return."

He turned again and was gone with Morris and Ed in the blink of an eye, disappearing through the entranceway. Lloyd had no idea what any of that meant, but he silently vowed to get answers later. He had to see to his patients now.

The Doctor led them down the front steps of the hospital, talking the whole time so that neither of them could really get a word in.

"You're right, Deputy, all our experience thus far has suggested that in order for people to get infected – in order for this lycanthropic virus to spread – they'd have to be scratched or bitten."

He sped along as they made their way to the Lincoln, which was parked in front of Morris' truck. "But what if we were wrong? What if its something subtle, something unexpected?"

He seemed to be talking more to himself than either of them as Morris locked his truck and they all climbed into the Lincoln.

"Like what?" Morris asked, starting up the engine. He and The Doctor were in front, while Ed sat very quietly in the back.

The Doctor's eyes locked on his through the rearview mirror. "I don't know. Ed? You're sure there isn't anything you forgot to tell me?"

Ed opened his mouth, but The Doctor had swung around in the front seat to face him.

"Think, Ed. _Think!_ Was there any time during your dealings with the Mayor that you heard or saw; anything contrary to what I've just said?"

"No," Ed uttered as the car got going and began its journey through town towards the station. "We didn't do much dealin' with him directly. It was always through the Sheriff. It was like you said, Doctor: we were just told to take care of those shipments, make sure no one got wind o'what we were doin'."

The Doctor's eyebrow arched, and he stared at Ed for a long pause. Then he said, rather nonchalantly, like he was talking to a mate: "Okay, then. Fair enough."

But there was one thing Ed had said, without realizing it, that The Doctor picked up on. Something that alarmed him. But he stored it away for now, determined to get on with this. Ed was smarter than he looked. Yeah – he slipped up, but his lie was still pretty convincing. He was playing the role of the hired thug and wasn't going to break character now. So The Doctor would wait, for the moment, until it was time for all to be revealed.

So he did what he did best: he kept talking.

"'Cause there's something that just doesn't add up – well, there's loads of things that don't add up, but _this_ one is pretty big," he murmured, turning to the front again, staring at the passing scenery without really seeing it.

"Well, what is it?" Morris asked, turning the wheel and glancing between the road and The Doctor.

"Hmm? Oh, well – you tell me, Deputy. Have either of you heard any reports of anyone getting attacked; anything about animal attacks outside of West Point? Any large groups of patients falling into comas like you have at the County hospital? Any occurrences even remotely resembling that at all?"

Morris shook his head slowly. "No, and I've been checkin', just in case…"

"So how is he supposed to be infectin' people, then?" Ed asked.

"I have an idea, but I need…" he ducked his head from side-to-side, making a face at the dashboard, "…confirmation."

"You're gonna do the same thing to the Sheriff that you did to that boy Percy Daniels, aren't you?" Morris asked knowingly as they pulled up to the station.

"Yep," The Doctor popped the 'p' and climbed out before the car even got to a complete stop.

"But…shouldn't we be looking for the…ship?" Ed asked awkwardly.

The Doctor turned to face him, making his face an unreadable mask. Ed seemed determined to help, now. Telling, indeed. "All in due time, Edward."

Then he turned on his heel again and marched on. They both followed him inside, Ed's dubiousness practically coming off him in waves. As they entered the station, The Doctor ignored most of the people milling about. Candy tried to greet him and he gave her a terse nod as he headed straight for the coroner's office/ice box.

"Candy, we may have some patrolling to do. Gather the boys around and I'll be back in a minute." Morris said, steering Ed in front of him to follow The Doctor. Ed eyed the phone on his desk furtively, but quickly did as he was told and walked ahead of Morris towards the back office.

As they passed, Boomer the town drunk called after The Doctor: "Hey mister! End o'the world is comin'! Have ya given yer soul to Jesus and repented fer all yer sins? Oh mister, you've done a lot of sinnin', ain't ya? I calls 'em like I see 'em!"

"You have no idea…" The Doctor muttered darkly as he disappeared down the hall. Boomer wailed with laughter.

"And somebody stick Boomer in a cell, will ya?" Morris called over his shoulder.

They made it back to the coroner's office, and The Doctor walked straight in without knocking. The coroner, a wiry man with oily gray hair and thick coke bottle glasses, stood up from his chair with a start. He'd been eating a late lunch, and he'd gotten mustard on his chin and tie.

"What the-? Who're _you?_" He adjusted his glasses and wiped at his chin, smearing a mustard streak across his salt-and-pepper stubble.

"I'm The Doctor – get out." The Doctor jerked his head in the direction of the door, where Deputy Morris and Ed were just coming in.

"I beg your pardon? Deputy Morris, what is the meaning of this?"

"Better give us a minute, Mr. Hardy," Morris uttered seriously. "In fact, why don't you go on ahead and take the night off?"

"But, but…who is…what…?" Hardy stammered, flabbergasted.

Morris had to take him by the arm and escort him out, still stuttering. Then he turned and gestured towards the icebox in the back. "After you, Ed."

The Doctor had already disappeared through the doorway. Ed gave Morris a dark look, which the Deputy returned without faltering. He didn't trust Ed as far as he could throw him, but so far going along with The Doctor hadn't landed them in the seat of disaster, so he decided to have patience. At least, for now. But at the first sign of trouble, he'd have Ed in cuffs so fast he wouldn't know what hit him.

The Doctor was pulling out slabs in the icebox, one after the other, when they made it inside with him. He was looking for Sheriff Downey's body. "You sure this is gonna help, Doc? Sounded to me like ya'll ended on a bit of a low note last time around…" Morris spoke up, showing The Doctor where the box holding Downey's body was and gesturing for Ed to help him pull it out.

The Doctor stood looking down at the body.

"Oh they'll talk. They're just itching to get me closer."

For a corpse that had been in the ice box for so long, it looked relatively fresh. In fact, it looked like he was merely sleeping. There's a certain point in dead bodies – when the flesh loses every last trace of 'life' that it possessed before. The color goes, the warmth fades quickly, the tinge of the shadow of movement and animation disappears, the skin becomes like wax. What's left is a hollow shell, not a person.

This man looked positively chuffing. In fact, Morris distinctly remembered a look of horror frozen on his face when they found him. Surprise, like he couldn't believe his attempt to kill himself had worked. They knew better, now, though didn't they? The look of shock and terror wasn't for himself. It was for his murderer, Ed. Now that look was gone; replaced by damn near serenity.

Ed didn't look at the body. He kept his eyes just above it, at the box it had come sliding out of.

Downey's face looked peaceful, patient. He was waiting for something – or, The Doctor corrected himself – _they_ were waiting. The purple bruises on his neck where it snapped and had been caught under the choking grip of his own belt were gone. The Doctor used his new device, and it practically went _ding!_

His body was teeming with lupine cells.

The Doctor looked up at them both meaningfully. "If I…succumb to them…don't try to separate us. Just find Martha and tell her everything you've heard here. She'll know what to do."

Ed took his eyes off the box long enough to look at The Doctor. He hadn't wanted to remind them of Martha just yet, but now that he was standing here there was a very real possibility that he could lose control and fall to the Haemovariform.

But he needed information; and he needed to see for himself if his hunches were correct. The only way to do that was to get inside, using Downey's mind as buffer.

He had to hope that firstly, he wouldn't fall. And secondly that Morris wouldn't let Ed out of his sight. He felt better knowing that he could at least rely on the latter for certain.

He closed his eyes and touched Downey's temples – and instantly felt how powerful they'd become in the last fortnight.

_Doctor! You've returned…_

"Oh, yes…" The Doctor breathed, gathering mental fortitude. "And you've been busy since last we spoke, haven't you?"

_We told you, Time Lord. We will prevail. Join us, and you need not die._

"Yeah, yeah, yeah – you've used that bit before. Didn't work the last hundred times; chances are it won't work now. Answer me something, eh?"

_You are in need of information? What good are your questions when all you love will soon fall?_

That swirling misdirection surged forth, catching The Doctor off-guard. They showed him Martha in his arms in the middle of a creek on a smoldering night. The Doctor pushed forth, forcing the memory away from him – and the emotions of fierce protectiveness and anger with it – to focus.

"Your friend Mayor White has thousands of people in a telepathic death grip. How? Why?"

The many voices of the Haemovariform hissed with amusement.

_You know why, Time Lord. We told you, do not underestimate us. Your arrogance will be your downfall._

"Oh, if I had a pound for every time I heard that one! Answer me!"

_You cannot resist. You cannot escape. Join us! Breed, feed, conqer!_

"If you insist on being so obtuse, I promise you this will end badly for you," The Doctor threatened through clenched teeth. "Why did you have this man murdered? He was obviously a threat to your plan. What did he discover, hmm?"

_This man was a fool. We know his mind as we know yours. His childish envy of the Deputy. His weakness. His indecision._

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked at Morris for a moment. Morris looked gobsmacked to hear that the Sheriff envied him. Then he felt another swirl, and closed his eyes as he was shown how Downey grew up a product of hatred. As a child it was all he knew. His hatred of those different from him, especially those of color, was based on pure instinct bred in him from birth. He never thought to question it – until he met Morris, and his wife died – and then he really thought about what the Mayor's plan meant for the fate of the people of Earth. He watched Morris, wishing that he could let go of the burden of intolerance for a moment without losing himself. He saw goodness and bravery in Morris, and felt himself a coward who hid in people's expectations of him. His one moment of bravery came when he was up against an otherworldly foe. And he lost.

"He died a good man. He died fighting for what's right! That isn't weakness. That's bravery bigger than your obstinate race seems to understand." The Doctor uttered, more for Morris' (and, in a manner, Downey's) sake than theirs.

_Obstinate…_ A long pause. And then: _Evolution, Doctor – true evolution – is not the product of an obstinate race._

"Oh, you've evolved into werewolves, how clever are you!" The Doctor mocked, losing his patience.

_Oh, very clever, foolish Time Lord. If you like obstinate, think of __**your**__ race! Who stood stubbornly in their Citadel hoarding their power until their arrogance destroyed them! And yours above all, is truly a thing to behold._

The Doctor grit his teeth, now being shown images from his past that cut him as deeply as if someone drove a dagger through one of his hearts.

_You thought you could win the Time War. You thought you could protect all those perishable lambs that you love. You believe that you can protect your precious Martha. You cannot, Doctor. You are but one, and we are many! The universe is vast, and you cannot protect all, heal all, save all! You destroy more than you create! Burn more than you salvage! And your Martha will pay the price for your __**obstinate**__ arrogance, as surely as your precious Rose did!_

"Enough!" The Doctor commanded, well and truly livid. "If you're not talking about changing your form to lupine, then how else have you evolved? Tell me!"

_You already know, Doctor. _

And it was true, he did. He had just been hoping that he was wrong. But, no, it made sense. The Mayor wasn't just any Haemovariform soldier marooned on an unfamiliar planet. He was something new, something advanced. His telepathic abilities reached far and beyond that first werewolf that took The Doctor down on the train tracks fourteen nights ago. Howlin' Wolf would no more be used as an Alpha than Boomer the drunken fool would.

"You've already started the process, haven't you?'" he whispered with sinking dread. "You didn't just come straight after that distress call…you've been plotting this for far longer. What are you building?" No answer. Hissing amusement. "WHAT ARE YOU BUILDING!"

_Go and see for yourself, Doctor. Go…and we welcome you – your intelligence, your knowledge of Time and Space, and even your arrogance. First this Earth, and then your marvelous talents, and then to war. You destroyed entire worlds in your Time War – now you shall help us to destroy the Clade barbarians, and any that stand against us!_

"Oh I'll go…" The Doctor said with such menace that it could instill fear in the most ferocious of beasts. "And if I don't like what I find…you'd better _run_."

He removed his fingers from Downey's temples abruptly, shattering the connection. He felt them slinking around in his mind, mocking him, but he shut them out with brut force. Then he slammed the ice box shut, crushing the locking mechanism with impossible strength – the strength that they had given him when they cursed him with lupine infection. And to be doubly sure, he sonicked the metal so that it would hold.

"They'll use him if given half a chance," he growled, stepping past Morris and Ed and leading the way out. "Let's go."

"Where to now?" Morris asked as they moved through the cold room and back out into the station. He already had a good hunch however, and adrenaline began to pump through him as he followed The Doctor.

"To the tracks," The Doctor said sternly. "But first – Deputy I suggest you get your men – those you can trust – to start enforcing the curfew _now_. _Before_ sunset. You haven't got much time. Get all the people in their houses, tell them to lock their doors and board their windows. Lock this station down, call for reinforcements if you have to. Ed – make yourself useful and come with me."

"I'm not letting him outta my sight," Morris growled.

The Doctor spun around and glared at him. "Deputy Morris, do you trust me?"

His eyes flashed silver, such was his urgent anger. But Morris stood fast. "You know I do, Doc. Heck, you think I'd follow you into this mess if I didn't?"

"Good man. Now I need you to _keep_ trusting me, and get your townspeople to safety as quickly as you can. I can deal with Ed."

Ed was silent, but The Doctor wasn't worried. He knew like Ed knew that once they left Morris' watchful eye, things would change. But what Ed _didn't_ know was that The Doctor could see right through him.

Morris relented and nodded his agreement. "Alright, Doc – but as soon as I'm done here I'm comin' to find ya. You got that Ed?"

Ed nodded curtly. "Let's go, Doc."

The Doctor eyed him stonily, and stepped aside. "After you, officer."

Ed stalked past him and Morris. Before The Doctor could follow, Morris grabbed his arm. "Be careful. Like you told me that night – I'd keep an eye on him if I was you."

The Doctor said nothing. He merely nodded seriously and followed Ed Mills out into the rapidly darkening evening. Morris watched him walking away for a moment, a bad feeling steadily mounting within him.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The sun was going down. Nightfall was approaching. It felt too soon to Martha.

"What time is it?" Martha asked as they climbed out of the carriage. She heard a rusty door slam nearby as the other men from the truck got out and began following them up towards the G.Y.S.T. House.

Mister John looked up at the sky. A pink hue was splattered across the horizon, mixing and mingling with the purpling blue of the early evening. "Round five thirty, give or take," he said knowingly. "Sun sets early here during the summer."

"Lovely," Martha muttered with more sarcasm than she felt. "That's just what we need."

He reached over and squeezed her hand. "Don't worry, Martha. I won't let anything happen to you." His words, that so poignantly echoed The Doctor's, reinforced her sense of purpose. Martha had faced all sorts of danger traveling with The Doctor, both by his side and alone. She could face this. And she had Mister John.

Sweet Mama came out of the house, a worried but perceptive look troubling her elderly face. "Somethin's comin'…" she spoke gravely, wiping her hands down the front of her apron.

"Yes, there is," Martha told her apologetically, climbing the steps to stand before her. "And we need your help."

Sweet Mama led them into the house, where everyone gathered in the hot little den. All the boarders, Lucille, Mister John, Howlin' Wolf, Sweet Mama, and the rest of the men from the orchard listened to Martha explain what needed doing. She told them of The Doctor – that right now he was figuring out how to stop the Haemovariform and cure the lupine virus, but that he needed _time_ to do these things before it was too late.

"I know that you don't know him that well," she told them, feeling her heart swell. "But trust me – he is magnificent. He can stop this, but he can't do it alone. He needs our help. Because if this gets as bad as we feared, _The Doctor_ will be the one facing down those creatures. He would…" Martha swallowed thickly, and tried to force herself to continue despite the swell of emotion coming upon her. Sweet Mama held her hand, and to Martha's surprise, she finished for her.

"He would sacrifice himself for us all," she said, and all hushed to listen to her. Martha, too, turned and hung on her words. "Ya'll heed Martha's words. Don't underestimate The Doctor, ya hear? I've _seen_ him…I've seen who he _truly_ is. He ain't just some white man come droppin' in on this place out of fancy." Tetchy Charles shifted on his feet uncomfortably under Sweet Mama's stern gaze. "He's a _powerful force_ in this world – a force to be _reckoned with!_ Lord, I don't think I ever met anyone like him. He's like fire in the heart of a storm…"

Martha felt herself traveling back to that dark cottage house in 1913 as Sweet Mama continued to preach to them.

"He weilds time and space. He has saved countless souls, and lived longer than any of us put together! But Martha is right. He can't do it alone. He needs love, and guidance, and a beacon to guide him out of all that darkness…"

She was looking at Martha now. Martha was transfixed. She felt, as Sweet Mama held her hand, a serene, loving presence in her mind. Quite different than feeling an elusive poke from the TARDIS every now and then.

"He needs _you_, baby girl. I told him, and I can see he trusted me. Thank the Lord." She smiled warmly as Martha unexpectedly felt hot tears sliding down her cheeks. Then she turned again to address the gathering. "And he needs _all of us_ to do as Martha asks. Else this night will end in nothin' but destruction."

As if that settled things, Lovely Lucille stepped forward and smiled charismatically. She was the only one dressed to the nines, in a shiny evening frock ready for a night at the juke joint. She swatted her fancy fan and said in her kittenish voice (brilliantly displaying more courage than any of this lot with a twinkle in her eye): "Come on, ya'll. Let's go to church! I feels like _singin'!_"

Martha laughed through her tears, and the room was suddenly alive with movement.

* * *

**Oh, I'm so excited! Literally only a few more chapters (2 or 3 maybe, depending on length) to go until the end of Nightfall! Once again, thank you all soo, soo much for your awesome reviews. Alot of you have stuck with this fic since the beginning, and I can't tell you how much that means. To the new readers, as well, you guys rock. I love, _love_ Doctor Who, and Ten, and of course Martha. I have so many plot bunnies roaming around in my head! So the journey doesn't end here - there is definitely more to come from me. Cheers!**


	25. Chapter 25

**XXV.**

What followed was perhaps one of the most unique experiences of Martha's life.

Training to be a doctor had shown her many of the wonders of the human body. Traveling with The Doctor had shown her many of the wonders of the universe. But this experience had taught Martha about the human spirit, and how incredibly powerful it is.

History, and those events that you read about in books and analyze from a world away (not having a clue what it was _really_ like), was happening before her eyes. If there were another way to describe it in her own mind, Martha couldn't find it. Just as the heavy garments and antique atmosphere of 1913 gave her an acute sense of surrealness, what happened after Lucille's declaration filled her with an overpoweringly visceral emotion that she'd never felt before.

Oh, she had seen movies, read history books, heard the elderly members of her family reminiscing. World War II, The Great Depression, the deep American South…all just distant stories. All just pictures in her mind – half-formed ones, ones that didn't hold a candle to the here and now. Next to the bustling, bright, crisp, oblivious activity of London in 2007, this slow, heavy, hot, powerfully real 1939 Mississippi crept into every one of her senses as she watched the men of the GYST House now.

Their clothes, damp with sweat, taught over their tired, overworked bodies. Their expressions, worried and serious and even a little confused. Their voices, deep and then barking and then quiet again. Their smell…such a smell was indescribable. The house creaked and groaned as men walked about, readying themselves. Shotguns loaded, boots laced up, shots of whiskey going round, hats pulled low over dark eyes. A scratchy record played softly in the background.

Night sacks packed with random things, shirts, socks, bibles, cigarettes, bullets, personal tokens to cling to for strength…

Sweet Mama ushered Martha into the kitchen, where she'd been cooking all day. They packed everything: sweet-smelling cornbread, apples, marmalade, chicken, sweet potatoes, jam, coffee grounds, lemonade, bacon left over from breakfast that morning, catfish patties she was planning on frying for a late "snack", string beans and carrots and a big loaf of pound cake. When they'd done they had four baskets full.

Sweet Mama made Charles, Blue, Manny, and Joe carry them.

Lucille came downstairs having changed clothes. She now didn't look quite as glamorous, but still lovely. A blue cotton dress cinched at her waste and flowing past her knees, simple black button up pumps like Martha's borrowed ones, and her hair in a demure bun with a flower in it.

No rouge, no fancy fan. But a bright, brave smile.

Martha took a deep breath as they all now looked to her, crowded on the porch. Mister John stood in the middle, flanked by Howlin' Wolf and Sweet Mama, who had a cane with her for support as she walked.

"I suggest we get a move on," Martha said very softly, truly affected by the sight of them all, rallying round her (and The Doctor). "It'll be dark soon." She swallowed thickly. "Em…which way?"

Mister John took a step down from the porch, and took her hand to lead her. "Church is this way."

They lead the troupe of two dozen men, Sweet Mama, and Lucille off the porch, across the yard, and into the road.

As they began to walk, the cavalcade spread out and Lucille came to take Martha's other hand. Sweet Mama walked determinedly with the aid of her cane and a hand from Earl, keeping pace with them just fine.

Lucille began to hum, deep in her throat, and Martha was stirred inside when she belted the first note. Howlin' Wolf followed soon after, and strummed his guitar.

Sweet Mama had explained, as they packed up all that food, that they would do it like they did in the old days. They'd walk through the streets, from house to house, shack to shack, and call out to the people through song.

They called it a Sounding.

They used to do it when she was a girl, she told Martha, when someone in the church was in a real bad way – so bad it seemed like "the devil was dancin' on their prayers". Everyone in town would gather, starting with the family of the beleaguered patron, and walk through town praying and singing, calling on everyone for help. Sounding the spiritual alarm, so to speak.

Martha didn't argue. They _needed_ a Sounding. The Doctor needed all the help he could get.

So they walked, and as they moved the men began to steadily join in the song. Martha had to let the words come several times, and then repeat, before she mustered the audacity to join in too.

Mister John looked down at her, and when she returned his gaze she found – not for the first time since she met this man – tears welling in her eyes. She found his expression (a mixture of stoic determination, love, and reverence) truly touching.

Lucille sang her lungs out. Hearing her sing in the juke joint was vastly different to hearing her sing this gospel song. Her voice was…well, it was just beautiful. It was at this moment that Martha remembered something The Doctor said to her the very first night they arrived here, lying side-by-side on the muddy bank of the creek: "…Lovely Lucille…though she died before things really took off…" As she was seized with the dread that accompanied the realization, Lucille's voice seemed suddenly extremely precious to her.

_Precious Lord, take my hand!_

_Lead me on, let me stand!_

_I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm lone!_

_Through the storm, through the night_

_Lead me on to the light!_

_Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!_

Howlin' Wolf played his guitar and sang along side her. And Martha wondered, how many would die tonight? She couldn't ignore the very strong possibility. It gave this Sounding a potent, emotional undercurrent that added considerably to the already somber atmosphere.

_When my way grows drear, precious Lord linger near!_

_When my life is almost gone,_

_Hear my cry, hear my call!_

_Hold my hand lest I fall!_

_Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!_

Sweet Mama chimed in, a motherly and nurturing yet sturdy and formidable voice that guided them all. Was Martha mistaken for getting them involved in this? Was there another way?

_When the darkness appears and the night draws near_

_And the day is past and gone!_

_At the river I stand!_

_Guide my feet, hold my hand!_

_Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!_

Then GYST House and Orchard men acted as a deep, soulful chorus. Did The Doctor know they were risking these people's lives? Of course he did – he always did. It was in his eyes, in the hospital corridor before they split up.

_Precious Lord, take my hand!_

_Lead me on, let me stand!_

_I'm tired, I'm weak, Lord I'm worn!_

_Through the storm, through the night,_

_Lead me on to the light!_

_Take my hand precious Lord, lead me home!_

Martha merely sang quietly to herself, too overwhelmed with emotion to muster much volume. If any of them died tonight, it would be her fault. It was her idea. She had to make sure to do everything in her power to protect as many of them as she could.

Mister John sang to her.

_I'm tired, I'm weak, I'm lone…_

_Take my hand, precious Lord, lead me home…_

She felt he was trying to communicate something to her about his people. About his time. About his heart. And Martha felt that, if she had been born in this time, lived in this place, and met this man – she might fall in love with him, marry him, bare his children, and live the rest of her days singing songs like these. She thought, almost out of instinct: _he's my Joan Redfern…_

She understood now. Any resentment or heartache she had previously felt for watching the two of them fall in love in 1913 faded away.

It wasn't a sympathetic thought – it was a simple certainty.

Just as simple as the certainty that she was irrevocably in love with The Doctor. That she was not from this time, and that she would leave it behind when this was all over. She had goals, and ambitions, and dreams of her own – from her own time. If she had been born here, would any of those dreams exist? Maybe. But would they be possible? She doubted it. So she was grateful for the ability to witness this. That's all she could offer of herself to him now – a witness. And she would remember this for the rest of her life.

If they survived.

Martha was not a religious person, no. But she could appreciate how these people, steeped in tradition and raised to revere a higher power, channeled such beliefs for good. One could argue about the negatives and positives and the philosophy of religion for ages – but there was no denying what she was experiencing now.

Seemingly hard-living, "sinful", arrogant and stubborn men gave themselves over to Sweet Mama's leadership and The Doctor's cause, and before her eyes – people came out of their houses.

They walked along the road as the sun went down, and the breeze carried their voices across the fields and in the trees. Howlin' Wolf's guitar gave a charge to the air, and people came out. They came out, and though their expressions were curious – they instantly knew what to do. Perhaps this Sounding thing hadn't happened in a long while, but that didn't seem to matter.

Sweet Mama called, gesturing with her cane: "Come on out, ya'll! Come down to the church! The devil is dancin', the light is goin' out! The children are in danger! Come on out! This is a Soundin'!"

They marched faster. Men and women joined them from every house they passed, almost. Sweet Mama urged them out, and Lucille sang. A few men on horses with greasy overalls (Mister John said they were fresh off a shift building train tracks along the river miles away) rode along side the cavalcade.

"This is a Soundin'! Come on out!"

Several old ladies that resembled Sweet Mama so much, but that were so unique in their own ways, came out clapping and raising their hands to the sky. Elderly men patted their younger counterparts on the back and shuffled along.

Martha feared for these people – they didn't know the real danger. They didn't understand. She looked to Mister John with concern.

"It's alright, Martha," he assured her. "We'll protect them. But this is a Sounding, and it's just what you and The Doctor need, if what you said back in the orchard was right. Like you askin' us to trust The Doctor, I'm askin' you to trust this town. It's alright. We're stronger than you think."

She swallowed thickly and nodded. He squeezed her hand and they marched on.

They passed through town, drawing out shopkeepers and farmers and even teenagers. Some joined the precession, some stood and watched. Martha urged John to instruct those that stayed behind to lock up their houses, board their windows, fear the night. He did, all the while assuring her that they were doing the right thing – that this would work. He seemed to understand she needed that.

And, in the back of her mind, she hoped The Doctor would hurry. Else, if her fears were correct, he'd be turned as the sun disappeared and the moon began to shine. Martha was capable of a lot – the many times she'd had to step in without him gave her confidence in that – but without him now, she just wasn't sure how to see them all through this.

It was too early, and yet…it was time. She felt it as certainly as she felt that there was no turning back now. The Sounding was happening, the darkness approached, and it was now time to fight.

Martha steeled herself and her eyes became fixed on the steeple of the small, white church ahead.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Henry Lawson White ran.

He had abandoned the train at half journey, knowing that with the planned stops and general chaos of passengers de-boarding and transferring and the like that he would make it there faster on foot.

Surely there would be questions concerning his disappearance, but none of that mattered now.

_They were so close!_

He had but to be patient, and soon The Doctor, this Earth, and the raging war half a lifetime away would be theirs!

As he ran, his gleaming eyes rose to the rapidly darkening skyline. _Oh, tonight…tonight we shall turn you, my friend, into our never-ending beacon! You shall shine brighter than you've ever shined, and illuminate the subjugation of this child planet The Doctor loves so!_

When word came to the Senate, about the Clade warrior that had been captured, a sense of relief and renewed determination stirred within the Consciousness. They had finally received the chance they'd been hoping for – a chance to turn the enemy's technology against them! They would win this war, yet!

The warrior was damaged, nearly done in. It resisted, but in doing so burned up the last of its strength. When the thing died, they set quickly to work. Scavenging its memory database, searching tirelessly for some clue as to how to deliver a defeating blow to their ever-swelling ranks.

They could not produce soldiers fast enough; such was the devastation of the Clade onslaught. They had to find something, some weakness, some useful technology, or they'd be defeated.

They learned many things. The Clades' beliefs and ambitions were almost akin to their own. They even operated in much the same fashion – a collective Consciousness, constantly communicating, working in unison across a near-infinite range of distance. Except that the Clades were machines. Their language strings of code; their "minds" hard drives which stored and analyzed information, solved problems based on equations and calculated scenarios.

They shared memories by downloading stored data onto a central hub, which every Clade accessed remotely. All this they learned, but they'd been locked out of the part of the database that would allow them to decode any information about their weaponry or military tactics. A special lockdown programmed into every Clade in case of capture.

The Haemovariform were not deterred however. They studied what they had right in front of them, and found something – something that didn't appear particularly useful at the time, but that they analyzed and perfected nonetheless.

It took them nearly four years to decipher everything. All that while, the war raged on. The Clade was kept preserved and secret.

But it was not until they discovered the data memory download of an encounter on Earth, that they found a use for this new piece of technology. The encounter on the child planet was of a marooned Clade weapon, the search drones that went to retrieve it, and a man called The Doctor.

A Time Lord!

The _last_ of the Time Lords. With a mind as infinite and full of knowledge as the whole of the universe. A man with the power to manipulate the Time Vortex. With detailed, intimate knowledge of planets and star systems, species, and war. A man who had destroyed whole worlds in one breath! Such a man they needed now.

Almost immediately upon this discovery, fate smiled on them. The distress signal came from Earth.

All that followed was as planned.

And now they were so very close to sealing their victory. In time, millions of soldiers at the ready – and millions upon millions more easily to follow suit.

The device, and The Doctor, were key. With the device, the sun's light could be harnessed ten-fold. The moon cast in a ceaseless pool of light! Light enough to triple the signal a hundred times over!

Light enough to turn The Doctor, and all the humans Henry Lawson White had infected, to the Consciousness permanently.

He ran faster.

The landscape flew past him in a blur. His eyes gleamed silvery white.

He smiled.

The Doctor was close, getting closer. He could sense it. Sheriff Downey's interrogation played in his mind like a radio frequency crackling and fading in and out. The Doctor's determination invaded his senses. One more step…one final step and he was captured!

He doubled his pace.

Henry Lawson White entered the town of West Point under cover of night. He had made the journey, what would've taken him nearly twelve hours by train, in two. His strength was fed by the strength of his recruits, both that unconscious brood at the county hospital and the subjects he had infected over a period of months. He couldn't have infected them all himself. So he began with a mere few. Who spread the lupine virus far and wide. And the Consciousness was strengthened by his voice – in town halls, over the radio.

It had taken him twelve months to conduct his work. Time moved so slowly on this planet. Time for a Time Lord was instantaneous yet endless. Isolated yet boundless. Oh, this Doctor would serve them well. No one would dare stand against them with a Time Lord in their ranks!

A Time Lord with a world of time energy stored in a little box somewhere in this town.

He found the bunker, and there found Jackson Prewitt readying the device. Jackson Prewitt was a fool and a coward, but he was useful. Even until his very last breath.

Henry Lawson White fed on Jackson Prewitt to replenish his strength, and then waited for Edward Mills and Homer Pike to bring him The Doctor.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

To his satisfaction, The Doctor saw that people were already hurrying to their homes to escape nightfall.

He could hear Morris inside the station doling out orders. His men would be ready to secure the town soon enough. He trusted Morris to do as he instructed without fault.

Trusting Ed, on the other hand, was another matter.

Ed was waiting by the Lincoln.

"No, no…" he gestured as he walked past the car and into the street. "As much as I love any excuse to ride in that beauty – and, truly, it _is_ a beauty – we're on foot, you and me."

"Fine by me…" Ed grunted and followed him.

"Come on then," The Doctor chirped over his shoulder. He wished he had his coat. The effect of walking through town with the EEG/Polarimeter/TARDIS tracker slung over his shoulder would be better with the long-flanked garment flowing behind him in the slight breeze. Ah well.

Ed was silent as they walked. The Doctor saw this as good an opportunity as any to get some answers.

"Tell me something, Ed," he asked casually, sliding one hand into his trouser pocket as he observed the townspeople hurrying along for shelter. The air was tense – like a charge of electricity before a lightning storm. A warning as subtle – but just as effective – as a feeling. These people weren't stupid. A town could be as tightly connected as any family. All relying on their instincts and the looks in each other's eyes to take their cues. And with The Doctor walking through their midst carrying a strange device, a purposeful gait to his steps, they knew something was up. Good people. He continued with Ed: "How do you think those lupine cells got into Sheriff Downey?"

"What?" Ed frowned, a confused look crossing his face.

The Doctor shrugged as they dodged out of the way of a passing locomotive. "Weelll, I mean that werewolf didn't get here until well after you and the Sheriff started following orders from mister H.L.W." He over-pronounced each letter of the Mayor's initials. "Until well after Downey was already dead."

He paused, turning to face Ed by the side of the road. His gaze was razor-sharp.

"So how do you suppose those lupine cells got there?"

Ed clenched his jaw. "I told ya already, I don't know."

"Oh, but I think you _do_," The Doctor pressed, "because…" he eyed Ed up and down astutely, then pointed the tracker device at him. Ed tensed up, unsure if it would harm him or what. The thing practically went _ding!_ The Doctor's eyes settled into satisfaction again. "They're inside you, too."

Ed swallowed. "I…I know."

"Go on…"

"I mean…I had a feelin', but…" he licked his lips, his frown deepening as that narrow brain of his worked something out. "It wasn't like the others. I should be sleepin', right? Like…like my brother? Only that ain't what happened. I'm awake, I'm here talkin' to ya…so…I don't know how they got there."

"Are you afraid?" The Doctor asked sincerely.

Ed looked as though he wanted to say yes, but only for a moment. "We better keep movin', Doctor." He gritted instead.

"Fair enough." The Doctor turned on his heel and began walking again.

As he did, he heard something on the wind. Drifting toward him through the trees, from somewhere far away. Voices. Many voices; singing. Somber and soulful. He thought of Martha. He smiled faintly.

'_At a girl, Martha_…he thought gratefully. And in the same instant, he genuinely could not wait to get back to her. _Been a while since I saw you, Martha Jones._

But there was a lot to do before he would. So he shoved that desire down and pressed on.

"Sooo…" he sang to himself, adjusting a wire or two on the device as he walked. "Something new, then, eh? Something advanced…something plotting in the dark for a whole year. Slowly infecting people as he goes…and no one knows…because the symptoms never show…ooh, that rhymed! I love when that happens!"

Ed grunted but didn't speak.

"Ohh, you've gotta lighten up, Ed! You'd be rubbish as a Companion. Even The Brigadier has a since of humor…" Met with sullen silence, The Doctor continued his vocal thinking, aiming the detector ahead of him as he walked. It pulsed and the rotor sped round and round, guiding him towards the tracks, as he suspected it would. "A way to strengthen the bond without enacting a coma-link. No, that was your little friend who crashed. Behind the times, that one. But such a speedy evolution for your Mayor, wouldn't you say? Of course you wouldn't, you never say anything above a good-natured grunt, do you, Ed? Just as well, you don't need to…"

They made their way towards the tracks, where a freight train – that same one Morris had wanted to search earlier – was parked. The detector pulsed and whirred, indicated an energy signal ahead. But it wasn't the kind of signal he was looking for. Still, interesting. He followed it, all the time acutely aware of Ed's now _heavy_ (and quite telling) silence along side him.

"He's trying very hard to hide something from me. Perhaps until just the right moment. And what might that be, I wonder? Certainly not whatever's here in this train…" He sped up his pace, Ed following suit. "That'd be too easy. Nah, it's gotta be…" he glanced down at the detector. Another signal, coming from somewhere in the woods. "Bingo…" he winced at the word, but felt the thrill of the discovery nonetheless.

The Doctor heard something ahead, though he instinctively knew he wasn't supposed to hear it. He also knew that Ed heard it, too. Being a werewolf, himself. He carried on as if he hadn't, but said: "Another interesting thing, Ed."

"What's that?" Ed sort of croaked.

They came upon a particular car of the train, and the detector indicated that this was the source of the first signal. The Doctor pried open the door easily. Inside were the sleeping bodies of Lenny Wilkes and…someone else. Perhaps that Slick Tony bloke? The first werewolf, the source. Or one of the sources. The Doctor stared at them for a moment. They were waiting. They were older models. Ed was the new model. Hm.

He closed the door again, and turned to face Ed – who now quite distinctively had a look of thinly veiled anticipation on his face. Visible even in the shadows cast by the pale yellow pole lights. Nightfall had come. The sun had gone down. The Doctor eyed Ed expectantly, picking up on that noise again, this time behind him.

"Earlier you said 'we'." He said calmly. " You said 'we only did what we were told'."

"Yeah?" Ed's eyes darted behind The Doctor. "What of it?'

"Wellll…I assume since Downey's been dead for a while, you meant that you had a third partner. Homer Pike, I'm guessing? Who is standing behind me right now, isn't he?"

Ed suddenly relaxed, and Homer's footsteps became clearer now that he'd been revealed. The Doctor didn't turn. He wasn't afraid. This needed to happen, and Ed would serve his purpose soon enough. His job was to get The Doctor to the mayor – to the source. He had known that all along, and this was the way.

"Sorry, Doctor." Ed told him. "Looks like _you're_ the one on the wrong side."

With that, a hard blow came down on the crown of his head, and the lights went out.


	26. Chapter 26

**XXVI.**

The church was small, and of course, warm.

Everyone crowded in and spread out, Sweet Mama and Mister John heading off different 'camps' for different purposes. The Pastor, having heard their approach, had let them in. It took a quick explanation from Mister John before he nodded solemnly and offered his house of worship to them freely.

He greeted Martha, as Mister John introduced her, and she tried to explain a little further about their situation. He didn't look as if he understood all of it, but he squeezed her hand and said: "I've had a bad feelin' for days, sista. These attacks, and the unrest of the congregation…if Sweet Mama and brother John say you can help, we're much obliged."

"Thank you," Martha offered awkwardly as he released her.

They sang more hymns. Mister John organized his men, who began hauling lumber in from the shed in the back (the church had been taking up collection for years to build a daycare on the east side of the church) to board up the doors and most of the windows, save one, to observe.

Sweet Mama got a prayer circle together, comprised of her fellow old ladies, and they sat in the front pews raising their hands to God and speaking in Tongues. They blessed each man in turn with sanctified oil across their foreheads. The teenagers were put to work helping to secure the perimeter. It gave Martha a heavy feeling in her chest – like war. Like the children in Farringham carrying gun powder and making barricades to keep the Family and their straw men at bay.

She took a deep breath and helped store the food, passing out rations, driving a nail into a wooden slat here or there, even allowing Sweet Mama to bless her with sanctified oil.

When the work was done, there was nothing for it but to wait.

Martha stood staring out of the one unaltered window (small round circle in the door of the church) at the quiet night. It was very still outside. _The calm before the storm_, her mind told her instinctively. Howlin' Wolf appeared next to her, his imposing form casting a shadow across the glass.

"My mama would have a heart attack, to see me now…" he mused; his deep voice was a soft rumble.

Martha looked up at him, smiling faintly. "Would she?"

"She told me, 'fore I left, that I was damned if I kept on like I was."

"That's terrible!"

He shrugged. "What she didn't understand, Miss Martha," he looked down at her, his eyes deep and wise beyond his twenty-one years, "is that I got my soul from the church. The hymns we sang, the touch of God…all guides my music every day. Sho, I sang about men and money and sin…but the _soul_ is still there. Ain't ever gone' be no other way. And I don't live my life like no man who's damned …"

"I'm sure you don't," she assured him. He returned her smile.

"She my mama. She loves me. She just don't understand, that's all."

Martha had nothing to say to that. They turned and observed the still, dark night once more.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor stirred, and his head was throbbing.

Somewhere near him, he could hear and sense the rotor on the EEG/Polarimeter/TARDIS doohickey spinning like mad.

The many voices of the Haemovariform Consciousness swelled inside for an agonizing moment, all hissing at once, until it finally died down. His body felt heavy; stiff. He knew without checking that the wound from the butt of Homer's gun had healed, however.

He was lying on a dirty, cold floor. "Cold, _there's_ a change…" he muttered humorlessly.

"We're deep underground. It's cool here." Said a voice. A chillingly familiar voice. The voice of the man on the radio.

The Doctor opened his eyes and looked up.

The room was small and dull. A hollowed out plot deep in the earth, cemented and closed up. No more than nine or ten feet tall, double that wide. A bunker of some sort. The light was from two flickering lamps on either side of the front of the room. There was an entryway, of sorts, that opened to an alcove where steps had been carved into the earth and cemented over – presumably leading up to the surface. Homer Pike stood guarding the door. He looked down at The Doctor warily, his expression blank, his face cast in shadow.

The Doctor wondered how easy it would be to take Homer out and make a run for it. But then thought better of it – if Homer was like him (and Ed), he'd possess the same supernatural strength.

The Doctor's eyes left him and moved to the center of the room, where Ed was standing guard over…the device.

Apparently _not_ an emergency spacecraft. Not that he expected it to be at this point.

Slowly, The Doctor picked himself up, his gaze now fixed on it. It was as tall as the room, perhaps taller – there was an opening positioned directly above it, where it tilted at an angle. He could see the sky plainly through it – soft, inky black night dotted with stars. A grayish-navy precession of clouds passed over what he new was the moon, newly rising over the forest.

He looked at the device, which resembled – to an outside observer with no hint of these sort of things – a giant telescope. But The Doctor knew better. There was a chair positioned at its base (which was modeled after an electric chair of this century, head, wrist, and ankle straps et all). He studied the rotor that adjusted the angle and narrowed or expanded the viewfinder. He studied, his sharp eyesight impervious to such sparse light, the strange markings on each notch.

The language of the Haemovariform. Key, set, target, lock, and light.

Light. That was the critical setting.

His eyes darted up and downward, from the sky opening to the device. And it dawned on him at once.

"A lux wave amplifier…" he uttered, his mouth dry and his mind buzzing at the realization.

"Oh, your great mind, Doctor," the voice spoke again, evidently pleased. The Doctor turned to his right and, seemingly out of the very shadows, a tall man with a jackal-like face and gleaming eyes stepped forward towards him.

The Doctor immediately thought of Wolverine, a character in a human comic book. Or Mr. Hyde, another, more sinister character in one of his favorite human stories. The guy's hair growth seemed comically out of control, but it all naturally made a certain pattern across his sideburns, and forehead. His jaw was formidable and his nostrils definitely animal-like in the way they flared and deflated as he exhaled. How in the name of Gallifrey did this "man" convince anyone here that he was human? Of course The Doctor knew the answer to that. He pushed the thought aside and straightened up further, sliding his hands into his pockets, ignoring the frantic spinning of the tracker device he'd built.

"You have deduced, in a matter of seconds, what my people took four years to decode and construct. I applaud you. You'll serve our cause well."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Ohh, save your applause. So! Henry Lawson White! In the flesh."

The Mayor inclined his head, his eyes shining. "Yes. And you are The Doctor. The Time Lord. Destroyer of worlds."

He clenched his jaw at that statement, and could not help feeling glad that Martha was not in this room.

"The only world I'm interested in right now is Earth, and the slaughter you're planning for its people, White."

"Oh, slaughter is such an uncivilized word, Doctor," he moved gracefully around him, clasping his hands behind his back. Like a man of society discussing a difference of interpretation on some form of literature, and not the genocide and enslavement he was planning. "Besides – only a few will die. But the rest…the rest shall be recruited and bonded with the others. We are waging war, Doctor, not needlessly killing." He paused and turned his luminous gaze on the Time Lord. "You, of all people, should understand that."

"Why do you need me, then, eh? Why go to all this trouble to mislead me when you could've just…ohhh, I dunno…" he shrugged, rocking on his trainers, "…asked?"

"You think we mislead you?"

"Don't be coy, White!" The Doctor snapped. "All this business with freight slips and sending Ed to spy on me? You didn't seriously think I wouldn't see through that, do you?"

The mayor stood smirking, waiting. The Doctor sighed. He hadn't told Martha, but he had figured out more than just the puzzle of the freight slips earlier that afternoon. He'd had to be careful – to let the Haemovariform go on thinking that he was on the hunt for a craft of some kind. He had to let them go on thinking that he trusted Ed.

He had to let everyone know that he was continuing down a path that had been _previously set for him_.

It occurred to him when he'd been scolding himself for not catching on to the meaning behind the Krummanic code on those freight slips. Given that combination of words, he should've automatically come to that conclusion. Yet Martha had to point it out to him, and as brilliant as Martha was, it raised a flag in his mind. Yes – it was true; the Haemovariform had taken residence in his mind. His walls were up, they were searching for weaknesses, and used any opportunity to misdirect and confuse him that they could find. But that was also the thing that made him realize what was really happening.

The Doctor had not come to the emergency transport conclusion right away because it did not make any sense.

"Even if you _were_ building an emergency transport to get off this planet," he spoke casually, "you're clever enough not to do something as careless (and, quite frankly, daft) as send parcels along and sign them in Krumann. Especially not describing the _exact purpose for each piece_."

"Interesting…" muttered White. His smirk widened. "Go on."

The Doctor puffed out his cheeks, stalling until he could figure out a way to disable that device without being stopped. So he kept talking – as though he was giving a lecture.

"I knew you had no intention of 'escaping' this planet. You intended to invade it, subjugate it, and use the humans here to be used in battle. When you're finished with your hostile takeover, more than likely you'll have already summoned a fleet of Haemovariform craft to transport soldiers. One emergency transport would hardly contain the thirty attack victims at the hospital, let alone an entire planet's worth of slaves.

"But that was the conclusion I was meant to believe – that I was searching for one thing, when there was something entirely different to be found. Something you didn't want me getting near to under any circumstances." He nodded his head at the amplifier harshly. "So much so that you orchestrated an entire cover story – an emergency transport assembly, complete with planted freight slips – and sent Edward Mills in to make sure that I bought the story, hook, line, and sinker. Isn't that right?"

White said nothing. The Doctor continued, stepping closer to him in the dim light.

"You knew if I found it before you got here, all bets were off. After all, it wasn't to stop you from _escaping_ that Sheriff Downey made copies of those slips. He thought he was exposing you, but you had other plans. You used what he'd done to stall me. Confuse me. You were in my head, making noise, all to keep me away from that amplifier."

All of this had flashed in his mind as he and Martha entered the hospital, but he quickly clamped down on it and locked it away – compartmentalizing it deep in the recesses of his mind, obscured by random memories that would be of little interest to the Haemovariform.

The unrest of the patients had given him another tip-off.

The spike in brain activity of the patients coincided with The Doctor's battle to reach proper reason and logic. They were using the patients' minds to keep him from finding out the truth as well. If he were a gambling man, he would bet that every time he got close to uncovering something, the minds in the coma-link were basically awoken to erect a telepathic offense against him. To an observer, they were simply talking in their sleep – all at once – muttering gibberish that made no sense.

In The Doctor's mind, it was like being surrounded by many reaching hands, pushing him around in his own thoughts, waving memories in his face to distract and upset him.

Martha's plan could effectively serve as his _defense_ against their _offense_. It was a long shot, but all he had at the moment. He needed a clear head. The Haemovariform were doing their best to deny him that in every way.

He had hoped that, with Ed around witnessing The Doctor go along with the charade, the Haemovariform would keep their attention on him, buying her time to carry out their plan in White Station. Which was exactly what happened.

"Keep you away from it?" White chuckled. "But, you're here, aren't you?"

"You need me…but you also know that if I defy you, I'll have that thing disassembled and useless in 'a matter of seconds' like you just said. You needed to get me here on _your_ terms, so you can use it on me. Once that happens, I'm all yours, isn't that right? As long as I'm in control of my own thoughts, I'm dangerous."

White's face hardened to stone; he lost his smirk. "Excellent theory, Doctor. Shall we put it to the test?'

Uh oh. He hadn't meant for things to progress so rapidly. He searched his mind quickly for a diversion, then it came to him: "Mayors first."

"I beg your pardon?"

The Doctor gestured to the amplifier with his forehead again. "Go on. I'm curious. You've got men guarding me; you have me trapped here. I want to see how it works."

"You can help us unlock the secrets of the Clade military defenses. You have deduced our plans and the purpose of this device without effort. You know how it works."

"Just because I know what it is and what it does, that doesn't mean I know how Clade technology works – entirely. If you want my help, show me what took you four years to construct." It was his turn to smirk. "I know you're just _dying_ to. It's your baby, after all. Took you twelve months to put this baby together! That's pretty exciting, isn't it? You're not a soldier White – you're a scientist! Have some pride! You've been pent up in the Senate on Krumann for Rassilon knows how long, itching to prove yourself more than just a big ole brrrain. Now's your chance."

White growled, looking ferociously agitated for a moment. The Doctor simply watched him, and waited.

He was right – he could see it in White's eyes. Never underestimate the arrogance of a scientist.

White stood next to the lux wave amplifier, and removed something from his inner jacket pocket. The lamplight caught it, throwing a thousand spirals of crystal light across the room, bouncing off the walls. It was a Krume diamond. Rare and beautiful. The Doctor lifted his chin in sudden understanding.

White would use the diffuse reflection from the diamond. It was quite brilliant.

"The final piece," White grunted proudly. "You know what this is, Doctor?"

The Doctor nodded curtly, eyeing it.

White chuckled and turned, bending over to affix the diamond to the base of the amplifier. As he worked, adjusting the settings and powering up the device, The Doctor stalled him with more questions, clamping down on his sonic screwdriver, hidden in his trouser pocket.

"One more thing I'm curious about White," he said, his eyes raking over the device to determine where he could blast it that would disable it. "How did you manage to infect all those people without them turning? Without them even _knowing_? Not even good old Edward here could tell me that."

Another throaty chuckle. "Ah, so you do not know everything after all, Time Lord."

"Nope. Never said I did. Weelllll…" he sniffed and the corners of his lips lifted, "I mean, I _am_ a genius, but you _have_ had your little friends mucking about in my mind for a fortnight. Throws me off my game, you know. So, go on then. How'd you do it?"

He grinned wide, almost admiringly, still feeding White's ego.

White turned to face him again and held his arms out. Ed stepped up obediently and removed his jacket. White's eyes glittered as he unbuttoned his shirt, revealing an impressively hairy chest and toned, taught muscles.

"Like your human virus, our cells are transferred physically. Previously a scratch or bite would do this."

The Doctor spun his free hand in a propeller motion. "Yes, yes, I knew all that. Moving a long."

"But aren't you eager, Doctor!" White gave his shirt to Ed and puffed out his bulky chest. "Now, contact need not be established in that manner. Ingestion is all that is required."

"Ingestion?" The Doctor frowned.

"Ah yes, Doctor. The simplest of substances. Common. Harmless. Liquid."

"Liquid...?" The Doctor thought. Town hall meetings. The hot town hall meetings, in the middle of summer in the South. People would be parched and they'd want…his eyes grew as big as saucers. "WATER!" he shouted, jumping back a pace and running his hand through his spiky hair. Then he frowned, gobsmacked. "_Water?_ Really? Water…nooooo…_water?_"

White laughed. "As you have much to teach us, Doctor, you also still have much to learn."

"Say that again…" The Doctor muttered. "And the coma-link?"

"Unnecessary. As you said before, I am not a mere soldier. My telepathic abilities stretch further. We used the time building this device well. We no longer use the coma-link in our breeding facilities. It is an entirely new process, thanks, in part, to the Clade technology we acquired."

"More like _stole_…" The Doctor growled.

White ignored him and Ed helped him into the chair. He was strapped down and secured there. The Doctor readied his sonic. He would hit the diamond.

"And now, Doctor," the mayor uttered imperiously as Ed turned on the device. A roaring generator sound filled the room, and at that moment the clouds parted, revealing the bright, white moon. "You shall witness the first wave of our acquisition of this planet."

The Doctor nodded, even though White couldn't see because he was strapped in the chair with his back to him.

The moon shone, and Ed turned the settings. Each setting he clicked produced a new sound, and the amplifier was steadily moving upward, rotator spinning more rapidly. When it was in position, Ed clicked the last setting – Light – and the device was activated.

Blinding white light filled the room, and White roared. He was engulfed in it, and he struggled against the restraints. The Doctor watched, his arm shielding his eyes from the light, as White began to turn. His roars became more animal-like, more ferocious. His clothes ripped, his eyes gleamed. Claws emerged. Hair sprouted all over his body. His shoes ripped apart and fell off. He roared and thrashed, and The Doctor saw his opportunity (as Ed and Homer were both distracted by the light).

He lunged forward, aimed his sonic, and sent a blasting wave at the diamond, hoping to knock it off the base. Then he would use the sonic to shut down the machine and destroy the metal.

But he had been telling the truth when he said that he didn't entirely understand all aspects of Clade technology. His meddling with the diamond proved a very bad idea.

White remained thrashing and snarling as Homer and Ed ganged up on The Doctor, knocking the sonic out of his hand. He had only managed to shift the diamond, but what's more, the beam from the device reversed itself. Instead of beaming inward, at the mayor, it was now beaming outward, at the sky, at the moon – at the signal.

The blinding light intensified, to such a degree that The Doctor could see nothing at all but white as he fought off Ed and Homer. After a few seconds, he didn't need to fight them. They fell to the ground, thrashing and clawing just as the mayor had done a moment ago. The Doctor couldn't see, but he could _feel_.

He was turning. He dropped to his knees, feeling the bone-splitting pain shooting up his spine. "NO!" he roared, doubled over with it.

_Yes, Doctor! __**Yessssss!**_White hissed at him, though he didn't speak. He was in The Doctor's mind now._ Give in! Join us! Breed, feed, CONQUER! _

"Noo! I – WILL – _NOT!_"

_Yes you will! Foolish, arrogant Time Lord! Did you think we would make it so easy for you to defeat us? Did you think we forgot about your sonic device? The final piece? SONIC WAVES! Reverse the signal, intensify the light! Permanent Consciousness! Every infected human across these lands are now A PART OF US – TURNED – OUR SOLDIERS! JOIN US __**NOW**__!_

The Doctor's mind reeled – rent in two and spinning out of his control. No, it couldn't be. How hadn't he thought of that? While he so cleverly tried to trick White, White was tricking _him!_ He snarled and saliva tricked down his chin, his fingers clawed at the dirty ground, his muscles tensed and tightened as though ready to explode. His bones stretched and it was upon him, the change.

No, no, no, no, _no!_

Desperately, he scrambled for something. Anything. He crawled around on the floor, listening to Ed and Homer's clothes rip and the unmistakable howls of wolves filled his ears. They tore off, out of the room, up the stairs, their jaws snapping. He heard metal bending and breaking apart and soon heavy footsteps were approaching him. A low growl issued from the gullet of the monster looming over him.

The Doctor continued to search for a way to escape this. He found his sonic. Useless. Not what he needed. Something momentarily intangible, something elusive – devastatingly elusive. He was in a tunnel…a very dark tunnel, feeling around blindly, desperate, afraid…HUNGRY.

_Your weapons are useless. Your mind is ours. Do not resist. You are one of us, now Time Lord. We have work to do._

And then the Mayor wolf turned and bounded up and out of the room, evidently confident that The Doctor didn't have long at all before he would follow. And he _didn't_ have long. By sheer will, he held on – like someone forcing themselves not to vomit, knowing that it will come, knowing there's only a matter of time. The rush keeps forcing its way up, up, up, and The Doctor keeps pushing down, down, down.

And Sweet Mama's voice.

_She's your anchor. A light at the end o'that dark maze you hide yaself in. Love ain't something you run from. It don't work like that, son…_

Martha.

He had to get to Martha – fast.

The Doctor moved with great difficulty. He kept an image of her smiling, trusting face at the forefront of his mind as he used every ounce of willpower he possessed to grab his sonic and get off his knees. He uncoiled himself stiffly, drooling, breathing hard, head pounding, bones stretching, pain running all through him.

He used the sonic to remove the diamond and stuffed them both in his pocket. Then he found his EEG/Polarimeter/TARDIS tracker and dragged it up into a sensible grip.

Every muscle and tendon and bone in his body was shaking and stretching and pulling apart.

The Doctor concentrated, breaking into a cold sweat, and flipped the lone switch on the tracker, thanking his lucky stars that he had thought to set this up as he'd been building the device, just in case. He sank down to the floor again, holding himself, shaking, convulsing, his eyes gleaming slivery white, his mouth hungry for the taste of blood. His suit felt tight – too tight. The beast was inside, clawing desperately to get out. The moon shone down on him – pulling him, pulling him _hard_.

He threw his head back and howled.

He almost gave in, but wrestled some slither of control back with enormous effort. Still, he knew he could not resist very long. It was coming; the change; and it would overcome him if he couldn't get to the safety of the TARDIS – and Martha.

He needed Martha. Now!

Then, mercifully, he heard it. The sweetly familiar sound of the TARDIS engine. Grinding, wheezing, oscillating away. A steady breeze picked up around him. He was sitting right next to the lux wave amplifier, and that is where the TARDIS materialized.

He felt the mayor stop in his tracks, enraged, and change course. He roared and howled. _WHERE ARE YOU GOING, TIME LORD? YOU CANNOT ESCAPE!_

If he weren't in so much pain, The Doctor might smirk.

The mayor wolf rushed back to the bunker, but by the time the giant, snarling beast made it back down into the cold – the Doctor, the TARDIS, and the lux wave amplifier were gone.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Chaos.

It had happened in a matter of minutes.

Like dominos, the pieces began to fall.

Lenny Wilkes and Slick Tony burst out of the freight train car – hungry, beastly, howling.

The graves of Percy and Fletch began to crumble inward, the still freshly packed soil quaking and sliding and caving in on itself. Hands clawed up through the earth, and soon followed heads, then shoulders and bodies as the two Haemovariform 'puppets' escape their underground prisons and lurched forward into the night.

Morris had barely gotten his men in order to begin patrolling the town, when a thundering, pounding rage erupted from the ice box. Sheriff Downey (or what was left of him) was trying to get out. Morris cocked his shotgun and stood waiting, cold fear gripping him, as Downey pounded and roared and howled in the next room, trying to escape.

The thirty patients in the hospital ward all woke at the same time. And right before Doctor Lloyd's eyes, they began to change. He stood in shock, watching as their gowns tore apart and cruel black fur sprouted on their bodies. Their eyes and faces changed, they thrashed about; knocking over equipment and clawing at the walls.

He moved only when one of the nurses screamed.

He ran to the door, ushering them out, and closed and locked it behind him. He rushed to the nurses' station, his heart pounding, grabbed the pager box, and issued a hospital-wide alert. Security guards, staff, and custodians ran around everywhere, securing patients as panic ensued.

He ordered them, over the pager, to _move goddamnit, __**move**__!_ "Get down to the boiler room as fast you can! Take the patients, forget the equipment, just move!"

Some heeded his advice, some ran screaming for the exit. He couldn't stop those who abandoned the patients. He got everyone moving ahead of him, grabbing people as he ran along, shouting and barking orders down to the boiler room.

Howls and roars permeated the small hospital, and soon more screams as one by one, the patients in the sealed off ward burst through. They were no longer patients – they were wolves. Giant, bloodthirsty, terrifying wolves standing upright, heaving and snarling. Snapping their jaws.

They grabbed people. They devoured them right before his eyes! And those they did not kill, somehow were transformed themselves. They writhed and jerked painfully on the cold hospital floor, their flesh tearing and their faces contorting to entirely new shapes as they were turned from humans to newborn, bloodthirsty wolves. He tried to save as many as he could before he had no choice but to escape down to the boiler room with the others.

He thought of The Doctor – of his instructions. Tried to quell his panic and fear. Only about a hundred and fifty people made it down safely. Above them chaos reigned.

The TARDIS, the blue beacon of safety, sat in the rear of the boiler room where they gathered.

There were screams, blood, howling, and thundering chaos all around.

And then, to Lloyd's horror, the TARDIS began to make that grinding, wheezing noise.

He whirled around – where he had been attending to a wounded patient who's I.V. had come out – to find that it was dematerializing. "No! Doctor, you can't leave us here! Goddamnit, come back! COME BACK!"

But the TARDIS was gone. Lloyd knew then that he was doomed.

They were all doomed.

Morris took a deep breath, turning his back on the ice box, where Downey was still clamoring to get out, and marched out of the empty station. They had released the prisoners and sent everyone home. His men were out there, armed but out of their depth. He had to join them.

He stepped outside and what he saw made the hairs on the back of his arms and neck stand on end.

People running away from the hospital, fire, overturned cars, thrashing bodies transforming to wolves before his eyes, and an army of the beasts marching toward him.

His men stood guard, shooting and saving people where they could.

He moved in, wondering where the hell The Doctor was. He could think on it no further as a giant black werewolf leapt out of the shadows and attacked him.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

After a long while of stillness and calm, as the inhabitants of the church sang hymns softly, talked and prayed – suddenly they could hear it.

Howling.

Martha and Mister John ran to the door, peering out through the window. The church congregation all stood up, on edge. Guns cocked and ready. The women and children ushered to the very back, up on the pew and in the choir stands. The pastor began to pray in hushed whispers. Sweet Mama and Lucille instructed them all to sing.

The men, with their guns, formed a line of protection for Sweet Mama and the rest.

The howling grew stronger, and soon the screams reached their ears. Martha's heart pounded. She looked up at what little she could see of the sky. It was pitch black, but the moon shone so brightly that she almost had to shield her eyes. It was too bright. Her heart dropped into her throat and then fell into her stomach. Oh no.

Sweet Mama and the others were singing, Martha couldn't concentrate on the words.

"We're going out," Mister John ordered, motioning for his men to follow him.

Martha grabbed his arm as he made to pull up the barricade from the front door. "No, please don't go out there! Your guns won't work! We need to weaken the signal!"

He glared down at her. "Martha, you _stay inside_. Sweet Mama and the others'll take care of the signal. My job is to make sure none of those demon dogs get near any of you!"

He pushed ahead, her fingers slipping from his arm, and opened the door. The men followed him out into the night, one by one, looking stoic and determined. She wrung her hands, not liking this idea one little bit.

How could she convince him? What could she do? She frantically looked around, found a spare pistol, and grabbed it. After checking that it was loaded, her eyes rose to meet Sweet Mama's. The elderly woman nodded that she understood; her worn hands clenched to her chest.

Martha took a deep breath and stepped outside.

There was still no movement – yet. The men all crouched in the yard of the church, some hiding behind the bushes, some taking shelter behind the big white sign. Some hung back around the side of the building. One man – Charles – climbed a tree and hopped up onto the roof, laying down sniper-style, his eyes glued to the horizon.

Martha found Mister John behind a tree and stood next to him. He looked down at her sharply, his eyes forbidding.

"I am _not_ staying inside while you and these men risk your lives. I'm fighting with you, and that's the end of it mister." She hissed.

He raised an eyebrow, his jaw clenched, before finally relenting and nodding his acquiescence. "Yes, ma'am."

All was disturbingly still for perhaps the longest few minutes of Martha's life. Nothing stirred. There was only the ominous sound of howling, getting closer each time. The moon shone brightly overhead. Blue and Manny took off their hats, rubbed their eyes, and settled down into aiming position on their stomachs. Joe had a toothpick in his mouth, chewing on it, squinting into the darkness. Buster and Earl crouched behind Mister John and Martha, peering around the side of the building, their guns at the ready. Everyone else had spread out in pairs to make a defensive parameter around the church.

Inside, the voices of the choir – lead by Sweet Mama and Lucille – wafted out to them.

They all kept their eyes on the trees, and the road.

"Is this gonna work, Martha?" Mister John whispered very close to her ear. His natural scent; the scent of his perspiration mingling with the tangy and sweet smells of the apple trees; surrounded her, making her feel oddly safer. His breath was cool against her face.

She looked up into his eyes, tearing her gaze away from the trees. "I don't know. The singing, the banning together – it's supposed to interrupt the signal long enough to...distract them. Make them vulnerable for one moment, so that The Doctor can…" she paused, truly unable to finish the statement. She had no idea what The Doctor was planning to do. It filled her with dread. They were really sitting ducks. She looked into John's eyes and felt overwhelmed by that reality.

He seemed to understand. "Don't give up on The Doctor," he whispered, leaning closer to her. "And don't give up on _me_, ya hear? No demon dog is gonna destroy my town, not as long as I got breath in me."

She nodded silently.

"Martha…" he whispered gently, reaching down to grip her arm firmly, supportively, with one hand. He pulled her closer to him, pressing her against his sturdy, muscular chest.

He gazed down at her tenderly for a moment, and then leaned in and kissed her. His lips were very soft, and warm. He didn't intrude into her mouth with his tongue, only pressed his full lips to hers sweetly, passionately. Pressed and released, pressed and released. She let him, reaching out to clutch at his shirt. She felt his hand fold over hers – large, hardwearing, and firm – pressing it close to his beating heart. She felt love for him, truly she did. When the kiss was over he sighed and nodded, peace settling in his eyes.

"Thank you," he told her. And she knew what he meant. He was thanking her for letting him show her how he felt. Thanking her for feeling even a small portion of the same way. Thanking her for coming into his life, even though they both knew she would leave it very soon.

She simply nodded in understanding, conveying with her eyes that she felt the same.

He smiled wearily.

Then: "Look there! Someone's comin' John!" Charles barked from his perch on the roof.

Martha straightened up and they both snapped to attention. Her heart was pounding, almost too loudly, too painfully. She took a deep, silent breath and steadied her weapon. They heard noises deep in the brush. Thundering footfalls, growls and twigs breaking as the beasts moved through the trees. There was an agonizing pause, and then…

Martha could hardly believe her eyes. Two figures emerged from the wood first, their movements stiff but menacing. One was bulkier and she could see the glint from the street lamps bouncing off his spectacles. Round, wire-rimmed spectacles. The other was taller, leaner, and walked a step faster. The darkness of deep shadow covered their faces until they passed directly under one of the street lamps, but she knew with a sinking feeling of terror who these two were, without needing to see them clearly.

"Oh my sweet Jesus…" she heard John's strangled whisper.

It was Percy and Fletch. The Haemovariform lied – they had not released his friends after all.

The men all stared, unable to aim or fire, so shocked and dismayed were they at the sight. But they had little chance to process any further, because right on the heels of the two walking corpses came the beasts. They burst through the brush, jaws dripping with blood, eyes gleaming, claws flashing dirty and jagged under the moonlight.

"Steady!" Mister John ordered even as the voices from the church seemed to swell to a thundering din.

The beasts began to run, spreading out, some heading into town, some coming straight for the church. But all seemed to move as one, communicating silently, efficiently, as though an invisible puppeteer were controlling them from on high. Even Percy and Fletch.

"Aim!" Mister John commanded.

The voices from the church cascaded through the boarded windows and seemed to seep from every crack and crevice of the place. Rising and rising until Martha felt the hairs on the back of her neck tingling with emotion. She struggled to keep her weapon steady, praying now – _actively praying with all her heart_ _for the first time in her life_ – for this to work.

_(Oh, Jordan River! I got one more river to cross!)_

_I got one more river to cross!_

_Jordan River, I'm bound to cross!_

_(Mother will be waiting!)_

_Mother will be waiting!  
But she can't help me across!  
_

_Said I got one more river to cross!_

The beasts stormed the gate, and Mister John bellowed: "FIRE!"

Gunshots rang out, exploding in her eardrums. She pulled the trigger, the backfire making her hands vibrate violently. She grit her teeth and kept firing, trying her best to aim correctly. The bullets hit the wolves, grazed them, sunk into their flesh, blood sprouted everywhere, but they kept advancing – with frightening speed.

The men tried to avoid hitting Percy and Fletch, but even when a few misaimed bullets grazed them, they did not react at all – just kept advancing, steadily and without blunder.

Martha fired until the gun clicked, out of bullets. She dropped it immediately, turned on her heel, and bolted towards the church doors. Mister John screamed after her but she kept moving until she'd reached them, and then flung them open with all her strength.

The voices of the choir, diligently lead by Sweet Mama and Lucille, flooded the night.

_(Father will be waiting!)_

_Father will be waiting!  
But he can't help me across!_

_Said I got one more river to cross!_

Martha stood in the doorway and yelled at them to keep singing, louder. They complied, stepping down from the pulpit and moving closer towards her. The pastor led them, Bible in hand, a mixture of fear and determination in his dark eyes.

Martha turned to see what was happening. Mister John was yelling for his men to keep firing, some had to stop and frantically reload. Martha dashed to Blue's aid to help him reload his weapon, then pulled the spare pistol he carried out of his holster and began to fire, herself.

The singing grew louder, as they choir had reached the open doors of the church entrance now. Over the shots and the howling, she could hear their voices carrying out in passionate harmony.

_(Oh, Jesus will be waiting!)_

_Jesus will be waiting!  
And, oh He's gonna help me across!_

_Jesus will be waiting!  
And, oh He's gonna help me across!_

_SAID I GOT ONE MORE RIVER!  
ONE MORE RIVER TO CROSS!_

Percy and Fletch had reached the gate. Their faces were horrifically devoid of any trace of their human selves. They were drones, the living dead – puppets on a singular mission.

Martha dreaded having to shoot at them, too, but they were no more than a few feet away from where she crouched with Blue and Manny. Percy, ignoring the hail of gunfire all around him, was reaching over to unlatch the gate. His cold, inhuman eyes fell on hers, and she froze in terror.

His face – so young, yet so horrifically savage now, rooted her to the spot, frozen. Then he was moving towards her, so fast she hardly had time to scream. His hands reached out and he was on top of her, choking her. Martha screamed and thrashed wildly about underneath him, panic and fear welling inside her so strongly that her heart felt as though it would burst.

Percy's grip was inhumanly strong, and in a matter of seconds Martha was seeing stars dance across her vision, dangerously close to losing consciousness (or being choked to death) at any moment. She heard the voices of the choir, now echoing as if at the end of a long tunnel, tinged with cries of surprise and fear at his attack on her, but not daring to stop singing.

_One more river!  
Just one more river!_

_Oh, one more river!  
Jordan river!_

She didn't recognize that both Manny and Blue and tried to pry Percy off of her, but both had been thrown clear across the yard by Fletch, who was now stalking up to the front church steps.

And as the gunfire reigned, and she felt her energy and breath draining steadily away, the wolves leapt into the yard and advanced. The choir did stop, then, screams rang out, cries of protest and fear boomed in her hurting eardrums. All was lost. It was all she could think, her struggles growing weaker and weaker as Percy choked the life out of her. Her plan had not worked at all – she had doomed them all to their deaths.

And she would never see her family, or The Doctor, again.

But then two things happened.

Howlin' Wolf's voice – booming and thundering – reached her ears as she was slipping into darkness. _"I need POWER, Lord!" _A second later his guitar rang out with an electric chord, so purely and so piercingly that she felt Percy's grip loosen and he staggered back. Martha pulled in great lungfulls of air, coughing and sputtering, writhing around on her back as her vision and senses came back to her.

_Power!_

_You got the power!_

_(Power, Lord!)_

_I need your power!_

_(Power, Lord!)_

_We wakin' up the power!_

_We stirrin' up the power!_

_Send me power!_

_(More power!)_

_I want more power! More power!_

_I need more power! More power!_

_POWER, LORD!_

Howlin' Wolf commanded, and strummed his guitar again, and the choir joined him. The rhythmic jingle of tambourines accompanied, along with feverish stomping and clapping. This was more fearsome, less wholesome, than the songs she'd heard thus far. This had a kind of feral quake to it. It was a rattling of spirits, a chant – a jiving, jumping, gyrating thing. She might expect to hear it in the juke joint, for its rhythm, but not at the church. This was Howlin' Wolf's version of soul. This was the way he prayed.

_Yes, Lord!_

_Pray that prayer!_

_Thy kingdom come!_

_Let the church say Amen!_

_God's got all the power!_

_All the power, yes Lord!_

_We wakin' up the power!_

_We stirrin' up the power!_

_We want more power!_

_We need more power!_

_Lord, Lord!_

_We need YOUR power!_

_To send these DEMON DOGS BACK TO HELL!_

And then she heard it, over the din, the happiest damned sound she'd heard in weeks. The TARDIS engine. Grinding to life – coming to save them.

Mister John was at her side a moment later, gathering her up into his arms and dragging her away from the gate.

It was only then that she could see the army of wolves stilled on their haunches, growling and snapping their jaws (just as the lone wolf had in the presence of The Doctor the very first night they arrived), but hesitating. Percy was crouched low in the grass a mere foot away, gazing up at Howlin' Wolf coldly. She didn't know where Fletch was.

The gunfire ceased for a moment, as the choir – now lead by Howlin' Wolf – kept singing.

_God, you got all the power! _His booming voice announced.

_We need your power now!_

_Power, Lord, more power!_

_Want more power! Want more power!_

_Power, power, power, power!_

And they chanted, stomped and clapped. Cried out, trilled, and rolled their tongues as he strummed his guitar.

And the sound of the engine grew louder, and Martha looked up, hope now blooming in her chest. Mister John looked out too, unsure what he was hearing, but knowing by the look on Martha's face that it was good.

And then there it was, the TARDIS, materializing right in the middle of the fray. Martha jumped to her feet, certain that they were saved. "Doctor!" she shouted almost gleefully, waving her arms. He throat hurt so badly; her voice was hoarse and barely able to carry, but she didn't care. "Doctor, it's _working!_"

It _was_ working. The wolves were at a stand still, watching with hard, ferocious, gleaming eyes. But they did not attack.

Mister John stood, too, recognizing the blue police call box, but not celebrating just yet. The wolves stirred, turning towards the new addition to the battle. The doors burst open, and The Doctor was there, but he was not the triumphant, grinning figure that Martha expected.

Instead his eyes were gleaming brightly; silvery white, like there was a lightening storm raging behind them.

He was sagging in the doorway, his face contorted in pain, sweat running down his face, his fist clenching and unclenching. And he screamed in agony: "MARTHAAAAAA!"

Her heart stopped. She started to run, right into the crowd of vicious wolves. Mister John's arm hooked around her waist before she could get far, dragging her backward. "No, Martha! They gon' _kill_ you, girl! Don't go out there!"

She writhed and twisted around to break free, and the Doctor kept screaming her name.

"MARTHA! _PLEASE!_"

"Let her go, John," Sweet Mama pleaded. "He needs her!"

For a moment, he refused.

Martha gasped in despair, desperately fighting against Mister John's strength. "I have to go to him! LET ME GO!"

Reluctantly, he released her, and she bolted. The wolves advanced on her as she ran, but none attacked. At her back, the chanting choir raged and sang and danced (almost as if in a trance now), and before her The Doctor's gleaming eyes shown at her as she ran for him. He dropped to his knees, doubled over in pain. He heaved and snarled, spittle trailing at his chin, his fingers clawing at the wood of the TARDIS doors.

"I need you! _Please_, Martha, where are you? Martha? MARTHA!" He was delirious, as if he couldn't see her, had no sense of where he was or what was happening outside of his own pain.

She knew, _oh she knew_, what was happening to him, and her throat was clenched so tightly with fear that she almost couldn't speak, but she managed a strangled cry: "I'm coming, Doctor!"

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor enclosed himself inside the cool safety of the TARDIS, finally feeling the crushing change recede, but only just. It still racked and shook his body, clawing through him mercilessly, pushing, pulling, ripping, jolting. But he was able to control it more inside the ship's telepathic shields, kneeling on the floor, the bright golden coral of the console room soothing him only a little.

He knelt there, panting hard, for only a second, and then he struggled to his feet again and stumbled towards the console. "Urrggaah…!" he growled, stiffly maneuvering around the console, setting coordinates. "Martha…" he uttered in a hoarse whisper, stroking an engine cylinder with a shaking hand. "Take me to Martha…please…" He did a search for the place he needed to be, the place where Martha was, and found it, quickly punching in the destination on the keyboard with stiff jabs of his fingers.

He was still doubled over in pain, his muscles contracting and stretching, his temples pulsing with bloodlust, but the beast was at bay, for now. The moon's pull on him was weakened while he was inside. The transformation was stalled for the moment, inside the suspended time vortex housed by his TARDIS. His savior. As he set everything up and took off towards the church in White Station, he racked his brain to form the plan that would save them all.

He knew what he must do, had known it the moment he figured how the lux wave amplifier worked, but he needed help. He could not do it alone. He needed Martha.

_Martha, Martha, Martha_…all his thoughts, strength, and energy focused on her now, his pain roiling through him in wave after wave. On the one hand, he longed to feel the sweet, hot rush of her blood flow past his lips. On the other, he prayed and despaired, desperate for her – her strength, her determination, her intelligence. He needed her, needed her badly. Sweet Mama was right – she was the light at the end of the tunnel.

He felt the TARDIS land with a hollow thud, and stumbled toward the doors, feeling the change increasing its grip on him with every step away from the safety of the console room.

When he reached the doors, pain and the splitting, crushing force of the change seized him instantly. He saw red. Smelled blood. Heard the other wolves in his mind. He heard the Mayor.

_Destroy them! Join us! I see you, we feel you, you belong with us! You cannot escape, Time Lord! We are one!_

He flung the doors open, almost blind and mad with pain, struggling with every ounce of strength he possessed to resist. When they were open, he could not help himself: he opened his mouth and bellowed: "MARTHAAA!"

He was conflicted, rent in two, suffering. Flames danced across his vision. It reminded him painfully of that dream he had some nights, of Gallifrey's destruction. He could not see, he could not think properly. Not without her.

_Please_, he thought desperately. _Oh please, I need you so much! Right now!_

And the Mayor mocked him.

_We are winning, Doctor. This town, its people, your Martha. They will all be one with us soon. Take her! Turn her! She is ours, she is yours! Her blood is fresh! Take her now!_

And he gathered just enough mental fortitude to answer: _if you're winning, why aren't these people dead or turned? You'll NEVER – HAVE – MARTHA!_

Then he clamped down, shutting the voices out. Though the pull of the moon still invaded his every pore.

"Doctor!" and he heard her sweet voice. Relief washed over him, and despair. "It's working!"

And it was only then that he heard the voices of the choir, and of Howlin' Wolf. The supposed Alpha. The fierce chanting of the choir folded over him, entered his mind. The beat of their hands and feet, the emotion in their voices, their words…_power…power…power!_

But he could not stop to elate in the success of their plan. He needed her with him, he needed her help.

"MARTHA, PLEASE! Where are you, I need you, please Martha! MARTHA!"

"LET ME GO!" He heard her cry, and then he could smell her advancing on him. And even as the Haemovariform influence coupled with the lupine instinct urged him to strike – to devour her – to savor her sweet blood – he felt her coming towards him and was racked with relief.

She finally reached him, and took him in her arms. He finally focused on his surroundings, and saw her beautiful, concerned face. He was in so much pain, and would succumb to the werewolf clamoring to get out at any second, but he was also so very, very in love with her that he almost wept that she was here. "We must…get…to the observatory…we must get…closer to the moon! I'm-I'm changing! We have to go, now Martha! Or I'll kill you…" he growled, clinging to her as she ushered him back into the TARDIS. "I'll kill you all!"


	27. Chapter 27

**Only one more chapter to go! This one is...rather intense...and a bit grim in places. Hope you like reading it as much as I loved writing it.**

* * *

**XXVII.**

His entire body was shaking.

His skin was boiling.

He was sweating, growling with pain, and heaving breaths like he was suffocating. Martha tried to push her panic deep, deep down and concentrate on hearing what he was saying to her. She feared for Mister John and the others, and prayed that their singing wouldn't stop – prayed that the werewolves would remain at a standstill – with their 'Alpha' telling them to back off.

The Doctor clung to her; his arm heavy around her shoulders as she supported most of his weight, his other hand clutching at hers across their torsos so tightly that it was going numb. Martha dragged him inside, slamming the doors shut with her foot, and up the ramp.

The Doctor looked into her eyes; his own orbs were dancing with that silver gleam; a wolf's glare in the deep dark.

"Light…" he sputtered, squeezing her hand painfully as she struggled to understand. "The moonlight, Martha…you h-have to…_d-drown_ me in it! Please!"

"But how?" she croaked, the strain on her throat from Percy's attack making her voice come out barely above a whisper. She shook her head in frustration. "Doctor, I don't understand!"

He opened his mouth to speak, the nerves in his face twitching with pain, before his whole visage contorted and he doubled over, crying out. "Arrghh!" He practically dragged her to her knees as he buckled over, releasing her hand to grab hold of the railing near the console. "There's no t-t-time to…explain! It's the-the only thing…that will…cure me – AH!"

Martha's lip trembled, to see him in such agony. She was reminded all too vividly of the _S.S. Pentallian_, the living sun, and how desperately afraid he'd been. His eyes grew more and more bright, his body heaving up and down, up and down, as he fought off the change. She knelt before him, taking his face gently in her hands, and forcing him to look at her. "Doctor, just…try to clear your mind. Try to tell me what to do so I can help."

For a moment, his face cleared, and his eyes faded to their normal deep brown. They were half-lidded, he sighed with fatigue, his hair damp from sweating. "The device they built, Martha," he uttered raggedly, still breathing hard, though he seemed more in control of himself as she held him. "It's a lux wave…" he groaned, teeth clenched, then pushed on. "A l-lux wave amplifier! It intensifies moonlight, boosts the signal, so they don't…" he shook were he sat, clearly fighting with every ounce of himself to keep from turning. She thought she heard bones cracking in his back, and it sickened her at the same time as it filled her with dread. "…don't need to wait for the full moon! But, the lupine cells…c-can only t-take so…much!"

He grabbed her shoulders and she hauled him to his feet. She dragged him around the console as quickly as she could as he set coordinates and flipped switches, explaining in groaning, pained croaks as he did so.

"It's like a plant. It needs water to live, but if you give it too much-"

"It drowns!" She gasped as he motioned for them to leave the console. "_That's_ why we couldn't find any cure, we didn't even think about using what they _need_ against them! Light!"

"N-Not one of my cleverest stretches of time…" The Doctor nodded, pumping the hand break and suddenly they were in flight. Martha steeled herself against the jolt of the ship, and The Doctor held onto her as they began to walk staggeringly (but quickly) through the corridors.

"Y-you have to activate the device…manipulate the amplification…d-drown me in the light!" He grunted at her, still shaking. They turned, a little too soon she thought, and were suddenly facing a room Martha had never seen here before. "The TARDIS moved this here so we could get to it faster," he moaned, stumbling along, still hanging off her.

He paused at the door, releasing her and leaning tiredly against the wall. Martha moved to open the door, but he reached out and caught her arm. His grip was vice-like. He looked into her eyes, still shaking as though there was a tidal wave of energy about to burst out of him at any moment. And now, in the gloom of the shadowy corridor, his wolf's orbs looked more frightening than ever.

"Listen to me, before we go in there." He managed to make his voice calm, despite his internal struggle. Or was it deeper, more menacing than she'd ever heard it before? It sounded almost foreign to her – and terrifying. "The TARDIS slows down the change, just a bit, but in there…it'll happen almost instantly. We're passing directly under the moon right now, Martha."

She understood exactly what he was saying. The hairs on her arms and neck rose up. A chill rolled through her, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. She nodded silently and swallowed down her fear.

"When we go in, you have to open the gates on the dome." He let her go, reached into his inner jacket pocket, and produced a glorious, glittering jewel the likes of which she'd never seen. It was stunningly beautiful. She stared at it for only a second, before meeting his menacing eyes again. He handed the diamond to her. "Put this on the device, activate it, and turn the settings all the way up, as far as they'll go." He reached again into his pocket and produced his sonic.

"Setting 702." She took the sonic as he leaned in, very close to her. He looked dark…he looked less and less like himself…his voice grew deeper with each word. His chest heaved, his damp hair dangling in his eyes. Martha stood frozen to the spot. "_Don't_ hesitate, Martha. _Don't_ turn back. Just do what I told you as quickly as you can, do you understand?"

She nodded, unable to speak.

He pushed open the door, and Martha stepped inside. It was pitch black. The Doctor remained leaning against the wall in the corridor for just a moment, his head leaned against the strut that supported him, his eyes shining. Martha felt around in front of her, letting out a small breath in apprehension as she tried to make her eyes adjust to the darkness faster.

"On the w-wall…" he grunted from the hall behind her. "To your…r-right…!"

She immediately turned, feeling with her outstretched hand. She found the wall and felt along, moving at an awkward half-step until her fingers touched a raised surface. A panel of some sort, with many switches. Martha hissed: "Which one?"

"All of them!"

She did as he said, flipping them all upward. An echoing, rumbling sound began above her and suddenly light began to fall into the room. Pale, twinkling light at first, and then as Martha realized what was happening, the light grew stronger and brighter.

She was standing in a huge observatory. The ceiling was domed, and stretched from one wall to the other. It was about the same size as the Globe Theater. Martha took a few steps forward as the metal enclosure of the dome was opening and parting in the middle, the two halves on either side reeling back and exposing more and more light as they did so. Martha gaped at the scene. There were thousands of stars – and dead center, a giant white moon, only partially covered in shadow.

"_Go_, Martha! Now!" The Doctor ordered, this time not from the hallway. He was inside – his voice was contorted with pain. "I'm…I'm…arrguhhh I'm CHANGING! If you don't turn that thing on I'll _kill you!_"

The dome enclosure hadn't finished opening all the way, but Martha started running across the room as fast as she could. There was something in the center of the room – a tall, telescope-looking device. Martha stopped before it, her eyes sweeping over it frantically. When she saw the circular disk at the base, outfitted with grips on three sides, she knew it was for the diamond. She dropped to her knees and began to hastily affix the jewel to the device.

That's when she heard it. Behind her.

The Doctor screamed. But the sound did not cut off, or stop, it simply changed. It morphed into a terrifying howl. She heard his clothes ripping. Heard him try to enunciate her name in panic and fail. Heard his bones splitting, heard him whining in pain like a wounded dog. "AH! They're in my head! I…can't…hold them…off…for…long!"

Martha tore her attention away from the terrible sounds, her heart _thump-thump-thumping_ in her chest, and got the diamond fixed in place. She saw the settings dial on the side of the base and the pulley next to it. With all her strength, she began to rotate the pulley, steadily moving the telescope upward, until it was aimed straight at the moon.

She fixed the pulley in place, her hands like lightening, and reached to turn up the settings. All the way up, just like the Doctor told her.

The first thing she heard was the push of air through a pair of nostrils – much like a bull's warning snort before it charged. Then she heard a deep, low growl. And then it was galloping toward her, the werewolf. Martha had just enough time to jump to her feet and run, blindly, towards the opposite side of the room where the mighty dome showed her the stars and moon in all their brilliance.

She slammed into the glass, but it did not break. Instead she sort of bounced back a bit, and before she could even turn to head in another direction, it was on her.

It roared at her, and suddenly all she could see was the large, luminescent orbs of the ferocious werewolf. Framed in black fur. Huge, dripping jaws with rows of sharp, gleaming teeth. It had her pressed into the glass at her back, pushing her back as it tore towards her and trapped her between it's huge black paws. It's claws scratched at the glass, its breath hot and foul in her face, blowing her hair back. Mere scraps of The Doctor's clothing remained, hanging like tattered bandages from its massive frame.

Martha was nearly paralyzed with fear, and then it opened its jaws and came at her throat with such speed that it blinded her. At the last possible second, she screamed his name. "Doctor, _please no!_ It's me – it's _Martha!_"

It stopped. One of its fatally sharp teeth scraped the surface of her skin. Martha pressed herself flat against the cold glass, trembling.

The beast growled low in its gullet again, it's claws contracting, scraping the glass. Its eyes shifted, looking into hers, studying her. It leaned back, but only just, still enclosing her in a claustrophobic position at its mercy. Though she was terribly afraid, Martha swallowed thickly, clutching the sonic screwdriver in her hand, and spoke to it.

"Please…listen to me. It's Martha. _Your_ Martha."

It growled, a tuft of hot air escaping its nostrils and ruffling her eyelashes. It was practically drooling to devour her, but it didn't. That gave her a tiny ray of hope. She had to stall it – him – long enough to get to the amplifier and activate it.

"You remember, don't you?" she asked in a trembling voice. She couldn't help herself. She wanted to be strong for him, but she was so very afraid. If she said or did the wrong thing, he would kill her, turn her, tear her up with those massive claws and teeth of his.

"I'm Martha, and you're _The Doctor_. We…" she faltered, tears sprouting in her eyes, blurring her vision. She cursed herself for them. "We-we love each other."

The wolf growled again, leaning in even closer, if that were possible, and Martha closed her eyes. Her body was racked with tremors, fear filling her so completely that it seemed to push at her from the inside, threatening to burst out. The wolf sniffed at her. Then it opened its mouth, and its large, red tongue whipped out. She gasped and stifled a scream when she felt the hot wet thing slide across her skin – up her neck, along her cheek, into her ear and up along her hairline.

"Y-yes…" she whimpered, trying to make her voice sound more confident. "That's it. You don't want to hurt me, Doctor. You couldn't. I told you that, don't you remember? D-Don't let them make you hurt me."

It made a noise, in its throat, and it sounded so…Martha opened her eyes to stare at it in disbelief. It sounded like…a moan. Like he was trying to tell her he was sorry; that he couldn't help himself. She looked into its eyes and saw something flicker across them where the light was reflected back at her in a flash of sliver. Something like recognition; conflict. She exhaled, calming herself; steeling herself.

"Doctor?"

Its eyes hardened again and its muscles contracted as though it was itching to strike at her, but she knew she had gotten through to him, if only for a moment. She decided to do what The Doctor would do – keep talking.

"Listen…not so long ago, in a little cottage in 1913, someone asked me something." She took another shaky breath and continued, certain she had its attention. It kept leaning in, almost in agitation as she spoke, but its lack of attack let her know that as long as she kept talking, it would listen. She had reached some part, some faint part, that responded to the sound of her voice. "And later I told you that I would've said anything to get you back to save the world, but…" Martha shook her head, hoping that The Doctor was in there, listening. "That wasn't true. I meant every word I said in that cottage. Do you remember what I said?"

She gripped the sonic tightly. The wolf gave another moan. She was running out of time. There were people down there, fighting for their lives. She had to get through to him!

"I said…" she uttered in a soft, vulnerable whisper, "…that I need you. That you're everything to me. Just everything. That you never even knew – never looked at me twice. But I didn't care. Because I love you. I love you _so much_, Doctor. And I know you're afraid – I know you've lost too much, I know its hard for you to let yourself fall again. But I'm not going anywhere, do you understand? Ever. I'm yours, Doctor. For as long as I live."

Its face went lax, and for _just a moment_, she thought she had finally reached him. But just as quickly the carnality returned, and it raged and roared in her face, then threw its head back and howled. Martha covered her ears. It came at her as though to strike, but suddenly seemed paralyzed. Its face contorted into pain and rage, and it seemed to struggle with itself, staggering back. Lunging forward. Raising a claw to rip her flesh, then pulling back again. And Martha realized that this struggle was internal. That somewhere inside The Doctor was warring with himself, fighting against the Haemovariform, fighting not to kill her.

Fighting to buy her time!

It gave her a loud yelp, jerking its big head in the direction of the amplifier, and Martha wasted no time.

She ducked under the wolf and bolted toward the device. Once there, she twisted the knob all the way up, as he'd instructed, and the device was activated. It was like a magnet had been turned on – a large beam of light flooded the room, radiating from the moon. Martha aimed the sonic, set on 702, and turned it on just as The Doctor lost the fight with himself and the wolf came charging at her. Martha fell backward in fright, but not before she had done her job. The wolf ran right into the light, and it was swept up as if it weighed no more than a dead leaf.

It hung there, suspended in air, limbs stretched out and useless, caught in the light. It howled and raged, but could not move. Martha scrambled back on all fours like a crab until her back hit the device, and the light seemed to intensify even more. She raised her arm to shield her eyes.

Then it began to change. The fur shrank away. The claws receded. The muscles and tendons morphed back to their normal size and shape. And instead of howling, there was yelling.

The Doctor was back!

He seemed to moan in agony for just a moment before she could tell that he was fully Time Lord again. Then he managed to move his head enough to glare down at her. "Martha!" he called, the sound of his voice, even in pain, an immense relief to her. "Shut…it…down!"

She reacted immediately, reaching out to turn the dial all the way down. The light disappeared as the machine powered off, and The Doctor's body was dropped unceremoniously to the floor. He landed with a heavy thud in a naked heap.

He didn't move right away, but she could tell he was breathing. Martha cautiously inched toward him on her hands and knees. When she reached him, she put her hand out to touch his bare shoulder. He grabbed her hand in mid-reach, sucking in large, noisy gasps of air. He startled her, but she was more relieved than afraid.

"Are you…_you?_" she uttered shakily.

His eyes found hers as he pulled in big buckets of air, and he grinned. "Yes…_yes!_ I'm me! I'm back! Hahaa!"

She couldn't help chuckling at his thrilled outburst, despite the fact that tears were welling in her eyes. He grabbed her face gently, grinning like a fool, his brown eyes alight with relief and gratitude. They sat that way for a few breaths, and gradually his smile faded. His expression softened and became more serious; his eyes darkened. The Doctor sat up and pulled her toward him. Martha braced herself against his bare chest, and as she opened her mouth to speak, he kissed her, gripping her face.

His tongue dipped inside and found hers, circling it slowly and passionately, igniting a fire within her. He let go of her face and his arms wound themselves tightly around her, pressing her into him; his hands blazing a trail of heat across her body through the fabric of her dress. He rocked her back slowly with the force of his kiss, devouring every inch of her mouth, breathing hard through his nostrils. He let o1t a low growl as she clutched at his flesh with her nails, reminding her that mere minutes ago, he had been a bloodthirsty beast seconds away from killing her.

He seemed to realize that fact too, because he slowly loosened his grip on her, his hands sliding reluctantly along her hips and back to let her go. He kissed her tenderly several more times, however, before finally releasing her lips.

He leaned his forehead against hers, closed his eyes, and exhaled. "Thank you."

They sat silently for a moment, bathed in moonlight.

"Any time," she whispered after a while. He sighed and lifted his head, and reached up to wipe a tear away from her soft cheek with his thumb. "It was touch and go there for a moment."

He scoffed, his brown eyes twinkling. "Is there any other way?"

She smiled softly. "With you? Nahhh!"

That serious look settled on his features again. "Are you ready?"

"What do we need to do?"

He looked down at himself. "Er…first I need to find another suit. Annnnd…I think a cold shower is in order."

Martha glanced down at him, exposed, hard, and standing at full attention. She leaned forward, stopping just as their noses touched. She kissed him very softly on the lips, and whispered: "When this is over…"

He groaned and squeezed her arms, leaning into her longingly. He seemed to struggle with himself, his breathing somewhat labored, before finally releasing her again and leaning back all the way, to put some distance between them. "That shower's going to need to be _freezing_."

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

John watched, shocked into stillness, as the blue police box disappeared – taking Martha with it.

For a moment, he despaired that they'd been abandoned, and that neither The Doctor nor the woman he had fallen in love with would return. But he knocked that thought clean out of his head. Martha would never leave them to die. He knew that, as surely as he knew that he would fight till his last breath to protect this town. And if Martha put her trust in The Doctor, he knew The Doctor wouldn't leave them either.

But now he had no time to think on it further.

A new wolf had been barreling down on the box from behind, and was visible now that it had dematerialized. This one moved of its own will, he could immediately tell. It wasn't suspended in a forced state of trance as the others. It snarled and charged at the church, its body mass seemingly larger and more menacing than the others – which was saying something. It looked unsettlingly intelligent; it was no obedient drone, this one.

It was the leader. The true Alpha wolf.

Its eyes flickered almost blue-silver, shining more brightly than any of the other wolves as it advanced on them. Mister John finally tore his own eyes away from it long enough to shout out orders to the others.

"Git back in tha church! Boys, get ya guns! Line up, let's go!"

The church members started backing up, but miraculously they did not stop singing. Howlin Wolf stood a protective figure in front of them, strumming his guitar passionately, his dark face crumpled in concentration – glistening sweat dotted and ran slick over his velvet skin. He howled and moaned, tapping his feet, his head bowed.

John's men obeyed him, and they all took position. John had a bad feeling. He looked up at the roof of the church, where Charles was still laying sniper-style with his rifle aimed. They exchanged looks. He felt it too. This new monster came to a sliding stop, its claws ripping up patches of grass and dirt as it did, and let out an ear-splitting roar.

The sound drowned out Chester and the choir, who stopped their singing, stunned. The beast leaned forward, its knuckles touching the ground, and glared at John. The gleam in those eyes chilled him to the bone, but he stood firm. The eyes moved from John to Chester.

The beast jerked its head once, very deliberately.

And all hell broke loose.

John heard several screams, heard the electric cry of the guitar going haywire and crashing to the ground, then his boy Chester crying out "Lucille!"

His heart jumped into his throat as gunfire and cries of terror and animalistic roars of anger rang out all around him. He turned to see the church entrance stuffed with people, some trying to get the others to stand their ground, others trying to push their way inside, away from danger.

Chester was struggling to pry Lucille away from the dead thing using Fletch's body to attack her. He was choking her, just like Percy had nearly choked the life out of Martha. Fletch let go of Lucille with one hand long enough to rear back and slap Chester clear across the yard. Chester rolled twice and hit one of the trees with a sickening thud. John thought he heard bones breaking with a tiny, sharp cracking sound. He was torn for a split second between going to his boy and dealing with Fletch. But Lucille was sputtering his name and her eyes were rolling back into her head and John moved like lightening towards her and Fletch.

He said a silent prayer of forgiveness as he aimed his rifle at Fletch's head. He fired. Fletch's head exploded like a rotten pumpkin under a truck tire. But John heard that distinct crack again as the body twitched and jerked and slid to its knees. And he saw to his horror that Lucille also dropped to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

"Oh Jesus, _no!_" he gasped, unable to catch his breath, as he rushed forward. He dropped his gun and slid to his knees, the gunfire and howls and roars and screams all around him nothing more than a throbbing echo as he scooped Lucille's lifeless body into his trembling arms.

"Lucille? Oh baby, wake up_, please!_" He shook her gently, but she did not stir. Her neck was almost purple, and starting to swell. It was broken. Fletch must've done it just before the bullet reached his skull. John felt a great surge of grief well up inside him like a typhoon. He sobbed dryly, no tears – just a god-awful noise that punched through him mercilessly. He could only think about how she gasped his name, utterly helpless. And he'd been too late. Too slow.

And, yet again, he had no time to dwell.

The big smart wolf with the fiery eyes was roaring again – short, deliberate roars. Orders.

And they were moving in. John's men were being forced back closer and closer to the church, as the yard and any protection the sign or the trees offered was cut off from them. A wolf leapt clean over Manny's head and landed on the roof to attack Charles.

"Charles, git offa there!" Blue shouted. "JUMP!"

Charles shot at the thing with his last ammunition, then threw both his pistols at it. It knocked one out of its way and caught the other in its massive claw. It crushed the pistol before his eyes and lunged forth. Charles raised his arms to defend himself, but the beasts claws came down on him and ripped fabric and flesh away. Charles staggered back, nearly losing his balance, calling out in a hoarse cry: "Go to hell, demon dog!"

The werewolf opened its jaws and bit down on his flailing arm, tearing it from his body. He screamed in agony and finally toppled backwards off the roof, disappearing into the bushes on the side of the church.

John had no idea if he were just plain dead or already turning into one of them.

He swallowed down a thick gush of bile that threatened to rush forth with the thought of it. The men were running low on ammunition. The pastor was trying to force the doors of the church closed, but several choir members were attempting to thwart him, trying to convince him that they needed to keep singing.

John grabbed his rifle, dug in his pocket and retrieved the last pack of rifle shells he had left. He loaded them up, closed the barrel, and glared at the pastor. "Get Lucille inside and close up these doors, Pastor!"

The pastor's face went as pale as a Negro's could go, and he looked terrified and ashamed. He nodded and opened the doors all the way again. "Help me get her inside!" he hissed to someone – a teenager. One of the boys that helped on the railroads; John knew his father, who was nowhere to be found now. He wouldn't doubt it if the man was among those wolves with no memory of who had once been. The boy looked frightened but determined. Together he and the pastor dragged Lucille back through the doors.

John tore his gaze away from her beautiful face – void of life, frozen in terror.

He turned back to the fray.

That big, smart bastard was still at the front gates, watching. Pacing. The rest of them where everywhere. In the trees. Circling the perimeter. Creeping up, up, closer and closer toward John's line of men. The only men left still standing and able to fight were Manny, Blue, Buster, and one or two who worked along side John at the orchard. Earl was nowhere to be found. John saw his hat lying ominously near the white church sign.

The demon dogs were moving as if wary of their weapons, but clearly not beaten. They moved like soldiers – calculating, forming ranks, efficient. The spell from Chester's singing had broken.

Chester!

He scanned the area where Chester had fallen earlier. He was still slumped against the tree, his breathing shallow. Likely he'd broken a rib or two. He was also surrounded by beasts, closing in on him. "Stay the hell away from my boy!" John roared, raising his rifle and firing angrily. He got two of them in the head; they dropped like flies, splattering the tree and Chester with thick, blackish-red blood.

He mourned the poor souls of the humans who had transformed into these things for only a second. Better they were released into the good Lord's waiting arms than remain as they were. Before he could get the other two, several of them came upon him, trying to take him down. He shot each as quickly as he could, one by one, ducking and diving and narrowly avoiding having his head taken off.

But he did feel a rip – a terrible, burning tearing of flesh – in his lower back as a claw came down upon him, narrowly missing doing even more damage. He staggered, but fought onward. He did not allow the sinking feeling of doom accompanying the pain in his flesh to deter him. If he only had minutes left to remain human, he would use them fighting for his son.

"Chester!" he hollered, desperate to get to his boy. He ducked between them, shooting until he had no bullets left.

Then he started swinging the rifle, as the other men kept shooting until they had nothing left either. John finally reached his son, falling to his knees on the ground before him.

He could feel himself becoming dizzy. Felt tingling mingle with the burning in his back. He thought he heard voices…whispers…hisses in his mind…malicious thoughts pushing at him. He fought them off.

John grabbed his boy and threw his arm around his neck, lifting Chester with all his strength. The beasts were circling them. Chester had a pistol in his hand. He raised it. Aimed. Fired. Each beast that approached them, he moved with difficulty to shoot at them. John jogged as fast as he could (careful not to hurt Chester any more than he already was) through the fray.

He heard Blue scream in agony. He heard Manny run out of bullets and let out a war cry. He heard someone's clothes ripping and an almighty howl as that man transformed. And then he heard Sweet Mama.

"No…not my boys! Oh Lord, no! Help us Doctor! HELP US!" she wailed, causing a great fission of panic to rear up inside him strong enough to split him in two.

"SWEET MAMA, GIT BACK INSIDE _NOW!_" He hollered, but he was too late. Too slow. He looked up just in time to see Percy raise his fists high in the air, standing in front of her.

Slow motion. Sweet Mama's eyes regarded him with nothing but love and pain and despair. She was weeping, and she shook her head at Percy as though he was nothing but a troubled boy about to make a terrible mistake (not a dead thing being used as a killing machine by those goddamned demon dogs). "Oh…Percy…no, child…please…" she whispered.

Percy had no regard for her despair. He brought his fists down hard. She collapsed to the ground, and Percy stepped back to let one of the beasts at her. It raised a claw, and…

"_**NO!**_" John screamed, his knees buckling.

Chester was jostled and fell sideways, still shooting as he landed until the gun clicked.

The wolves closed in on them. John felt himself swooning. He heard the voices, stronger now. Felt his bones constricting all through his body. He was going to change. He was sick with it.

And he didn't need to see through the closing ranks of the wolves to know that Sweet Mama was dead.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Morris fell to the ground hard, narrowly missing smashing his skull on the pavement.

The werewolf roared and towered over him, looming like a giant black death machine. It lunged down at him and he reacted just in time – blocking its attack with his rifle held out above him. He strained and squirmed as its weight pressed down on the rifle, growling in his face, drooling on him. He saw the golden gleam of a Sherriff's Department badge and his throat closed up.

The badge read Officer Edward Mills. It was attached to a torn, shredded patch of uniform barely clinging to the wolf's bicep.

Morris took a deep breath and pushed harder. "Ed! It's ME! Morris!"

The wolf roared and pressed further, nearly buckling his arms. The rifle would break in half any minute. His muscles were burning with fatigue, but he kept pushing the animal off of him with all his might.

He remembered what The Doctor told him in his truck mere hours ago. He put some bass in his voice and roared back.

"GIT YOUR HEAD OUTTA YOUR ASS, MILLS! You're attacking your superior officer! I know you're in there, you stubborn son of a bitch!"

The werewolf leaned in and snapped its jaws at him, missing his nose by mere centimeters. Morris struggled mightily, but he was no match for the beast's strength.

And then, mercifully (though completely out of nowhere), crazy ass Boomer Denton gave a wretched yelp and hopped onto the wolf's back, cackling away. "Yee haw, I'm gonna ride this som'bitch all the way to Cal-ee-forniya! Geetty up, you demon from hell, you!"

Ed/werewolf howled and jumped back, swinging around wildly to get Boomer off of him. Morris heaved a sigh of relief, then scrambled to his feet. He grabbed up his rifle and stood aiming shakily, unsure what to do. He didn't want to kill Ed, which pissed him right the hell off. He also didn't want Boomer to die.

"Boomer, jump down! Get your ass away from here!"

"Run along, cop!" Boomer yowled, bucking his knees like he was a rodeo cowboy. "Me and the devil got some unfinished business!"

Morris cursed and cocked the ammunition into his gun. "Ed…let him go…" he breathed, knowing it would do no good. He already felt the dread closing in on him. It was either shoot or…and it was too late.

The wolf reached up and grabbed Boomer by the face, pulling him over its head and smashing his frail, wrinkled body to the pavement.

Boomer yelped in terror and pain, and before Morris' eyes, the wolf as on him, devouring him. He fought off a wave of sickness and sorrow, before his survival instinct kicked in. He had to go – or that wolf would be on him next. He had to leave Boomer to his fate.

Morris turned on his heel and ran.

He tried to ignore the screams of agony and the sounds of flesh being ripped apart behind him, silently asking the Lord for forgiveness.

Then he heard it. Singing. It was faint, wafting toward him across the bridge on the wind. But it was there. It was the rise of many voices, mingling together, calling some word over and over again. It gave him a chill.

And then something rushed past him like a freight train, nearly knocking him over. And more of them were coming. Running at top speed into the woods. He looked around, dazed, and realized that the streets were emptying, as all the forces of the attack on the town seemed to be focused on and answering the call of those voices. A thundering howl erupted – more menacing and forceful than any of the others. Like a call to action.

Morris had no idea where any of his men were. He had no idea where The Doctor was. But he knew he needed to get across that bridge – and fast.

Something awful was going down in White Station.

He high-tailed it to the Lincoln, tossing both of his guns into the passenger seat and starting her up.

He swerved out into the street and peeled down towards the bridge. He didn't know what he would find. But he would be damned if he stood by while someone else died.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor bounded into the console room at full speed, dumping what looked like a medical bag into the jump seat and flying towards the controls.

Martha had hurriedly thrown on some of her own clothes while he showered like there were lightening bolts at his heels. She was pulling on her trainers when he burst in with his hair still wet, and now she joined him at the console, yanking her own hair into a hasty ponytail. His hands flew over the controls, a fire in his eyes, his expression sharp and calculated.

"We need to get into a closer orbit – I'm going to _blast every last one of them to hell_," he uttered darkly.

"Drown them in light, you mean?"

He looked up at her, and she could see his anger boiling in those dark, ancient eyes of his. She knew that the Haemovariform would feel his wrath mightily, and truthfully she was extremely thankful that she was on his side. She had a fleeting thought of the Family. He never told her what he did to them, but she had a feeling it was terrible because he would not let her go with him and he would not speak of it when she asked.

"Let's go." The Doctor snatched the hand break down and the TARDIS jostled, but he was already moving towards the corridor. He pointed to the bag on the jump seat as he went. "That's for you!"

Martha glanced at it as she hurried after him, knowing what he meant it for, pushing the dread down her throat like a brick.

They made it back to the observatory and The Doctor ran across the large space to the center where the lux wave amplifier stood ready for him. Martha rushed to his side, and he shouted instructions at her.

"Help me tilt it, come on!" He barked, and she helped him rotate the pulley so that the device groaned upward at a higher angle. "Get ready – when I say, turn up the dial_! All the way up-ah!_"

She nodded and crouched near the settings dial, her hand in position. He stooped and examined the diamond, still in place.

His eyes darted up and hers followed. They were moving – zooming around the moon slightly, until they were directly facing it, rather than being under it. All the more intense, the light. Martha's eyes watered, staring at it, and she returned her gaze to his face.

His hard mask of fury and concentration melted long enough for him to grin and wink at her. "Never a dull moment, eh? _Allons-y!_" She smiled back. He gave the diamond a blast from his sonic, and then he shouted "Now!"

Martha turned the dial all the way up. The beam activated, and the room was engulfed in magnificent white light. There was a great shudder and they were thrown back off their feet. They seemed to be…falling backward through space. The moon was getting further and further away, though the light lost none of its intensity.

"Bollocks!" The Doctor shouted angrily, getting unsteadily to his feet.

"What happened?"

"The beam is too intense! Knocked us out of orbit. Hang on!"

And he was gone in a flash, leaving Martha clinging to the base of the amplifier as the TARDIS shook and shuddered and fell. She felt an awful dip in her stomach at the speed with which they were flying backward.

Then suddenly it was gone, and the shuddering gradually stilled, and the moon was looming towards them again. Martha shielded her eyes from the blinding brightness. The beam of light from the diamond hummed loudly, and hope sprung to life inside her.

She couldn't see Earth, or what was happening on the surface, but she had a feeling that it was working. That the same thing that happened in this room earlier was happening down there. That Mister John and the others were being saved. She suddenly felt, within every inch of herself, an intense desire to go to him, to see him alive and safe. To hug him and kiss him and tell him that he was brave, and good, and a hero – _her_ hero.

But The Doctor was also her hero. And swimming inside her also was immeasurable love for him. Absolutely immeasurable.

And there was his voice, booming through every hall in the place, echoing off the walls in the observatory.

"Haemovariform! This is The Doctor!"

Martha laughed ecstatically for no reason. "Yes!" she whooped. They were saved!

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

John's muscles felt like they would all burst apart. He drooled and shook, reaching out for his boy; his Chester; as the werewolves closed in.

Then he heard it. The bazooka horn of the Lincoln police car. And an almighty clatter as the car crashed through the white church sign and barreled through the crowd of beasts, knocking some of them this way or that. Others jumped on it and tried to pull it apart or pull it off course. The driver's door opened and Deputy Hugh Morris leaned out. He shouted, "CATCH!" and tossed John a pistol. John caught it, forced back the advance of lupine infection with all his might, and began shooting with every last stitch of humanity he still possessed.

Morris dived out of the car, a rifle tucked under his arm. The Lincoln skidded into the woods, wolves still straddling it. John heard it crash into a tree and a second later flames rose up and erupted from the foliage at their backs.

They paid no attention. They were busy shooting any wolf that so much as twitched. Morris tossed a box of ammo at Chester, who determinedly loaded his weapon and got to his knees. His face was contorted in pain, tears were in his eyes, but he fought just as hard as his father and the Deputy.

"I ain't got long!" John shouted over the hail of gunfire. Morris' eyes dipped to observe the wound in his back, and he nodded gruffly in grim understanding, still firing. For John's part, he pushed the change down, down, down, with all of his strength, determined to keep shooting until he just couldn't any more.

It was just the three of them. Fighting; cornered on all sides.

And the smart one – the Alpha wolf – was watching on the sidelines. John fancied he heard that Alpha wolf's voice inside his head. Cold and murderous. Pushing at him. Pulling on him. Calling him to the other side.

Werewolves were starting to attack the church now, clawing and tearing at the doors. John heard them break through, and he wanted to die. The women and teenagers inside would be slaughtered. Or converted. He didn't know which was worse.

And his earlier thought – that The Doctor and Martha had abandoned them – crept up on him like a cold, slimy snake slithering up the back of his neck.

He didn't want to allow it to come, but it was there. And he sobbed with rage and grief as he shot one beast after the other to little avail. They fell, they got back up. The staggered, they kept advancing. They clawed, snapped, growled, and howled. They were everywhere.

He was going to change soon. Very soon. He was getting tired of fighting it. His bones were constricting and felt as if they would all break one by one. And once that happened; once he was lost to them; his son and Deputy Morris didn't stand a chance in hell. "You better shoot me, Deputy!" John pleaded, dropping to his knees. He growled, his fingers clawing into the dirt. "You better kill me _now!_" Morris paused his defense against the advancing beasts long enough to give him a stunned look of protest.

And then.

Suddenly, as if God turned on a light switch in the sky, bright white light flooded his vision in an electric flash.

He gasped.

The moon seemed to be ten or twenty times as bright as he'd ever seen it. The whole sky was filled with pale light on top of the dark of night. The moon's light was everywhere, penetrating everything! It shown through the trees in thick beams. It bounced off any reflective surface possible.

And that's when it happened. The wolves – every single one of them – howled. John and Morris dropped their guns and covered their ears. The loudest howls (more like roars of rage) were coming from the Alpha.

John and Morris and Howlin' Wolf watched in awe and disbelief as the beams of light locked onto each werewolf and they were all lifted into the air. The wolves floated up, up, up…until they hung suspended and helpless in the air some twenty or thirty feet above the men's heads. John immediately felt his body settling again. He felt the pain ease off; felt the voices in his head fading to almost nothing.

And a voice rang out, loud and clear. Coming from everywhere and nowhere at the same time.

"Heamovariform! This is The Doctor!"

Morris bellowed with laughter, actually jumping once on his boots and clapping John on the back with happiness and relief.

"I told you to leave this planet alone…you didn't listen…so now, you've got _me_ to answer to! And I! DON'T! GIVE! SECOND! _CHANCES!_"

The Alpha wolf howled with rage, and a second later the beam of light intensified. So much so that Morris fell to his knees beside John and Chester; all of them shielded their eyes.

Howls erupted all over, and before their eyes, the wolves began to change. To shrink. To disappear within themselves. Black fur disappeared. Fangs and claws shrank away. Tails and pointed ears diminished. Human faces; human _bodies_; began to emerge. Skin, fingers, feet, naked flesh. Men and women floating above their heads. Cured. Human.

Saved.


	28. Chapter 28

**XXVIII.**

"Doctor!" Martha shouted urgently as she ran down the corridor towards the console room. "Take us down!"

When she arrived he was standing at the console, both hands full and active, cranking up the gravitic anomaliser and firing up the helmick regulator. He glanced over at her, his eyes wide and bright, a satisfied grin on his lips.

"Already on it, boss," he breathed, then bounced around to the monitor. She grabbed hold of the console to steady herself as they bumped and rumbled along, watching as he punched in coordinates, his eyebrows raised high, his eyes (normal, Doctor-ly brown, she was relieved and happy to note) still dancing. "Setting us dowwwwnnnah…" Martha bounced on the toes of her trainers, anxious to get to the church, "…now!"

The TARDIS gave an echoing thud as it landed, and Martha grabbed the medical bag off the jump seat, immediately starting down the ramp.

The Doctor lost his smile and sidestepped quickly until he was blocking her path, thrusting out an arm to slow her momentum. "Hold on a tick," he sighed, looking down at her in all seriousness now.

"There's no time, they could be hurt!" she hissed distractedly, trying to step around him. He moved with her, blocking her again. "That's what you gave me the kit for, now move!"

"Martha, wait."

She glared up at him, not understanding what he was on about. "Wait for what?"

He gave her arm a gentle squeeze, his eyes concerned. "You're right, they may be hurt," he spoke softly. "And some of them may even be…gone."

"Doctor, don't lecture me about-!" she started angrily.

"You've been through a lot, Martha. You've had to carry the responsibility since I was infected, and-"

"And it didn't kill me in 1913, so why are you bringing it up _now_?" she pushed at him firmly, but she was too small to make much headway. He stood towering over her petit frame, still looking hesitant. She glared at him in disbelief.

The Doctor gazed at her, afraid to say what he was thinking. What he'd noticed, and suspected, since they'd been here. There were several interesting emotions warring within him. He knew she could handle what was waiting for them – she was a doctor in training, and besides that, one of the most capable and levelheaded women he'd met in a long time. He had seen glimpses of someone like Martha in Rose – had been proud to see that Rose was growing into exactly the kind of woman Martha was already. Of course he didn't know Martha at the time, but he could recognize it now. He also knew that things hadn't been easy for her lately – that he had pretty much thrown the world in her lap (twice now) since they ran into the Family unexpectedly, and left her to shoulder his responsibilities on her own. And he had seen how attached she had grown to the people in the GYST House – especially John.

He said, in a voice so low, it was almost a whisper: "I've…I-I've seen how close you and John…" he swallowed and started over, "Martha, I speak from _extensive_ experience. This sort of loss isn't the same as you working the late shift A&E and having a patient die in a trauma. If he's…"

"He is _not dead_," she said through clenched teeth, her eyes burning into his. "And he's not the only one I'm concerned about. Let me go, Doctor. Now. Please."

He swallowed thickly again and nodded, stepping aside.

She sprinted down the ramp and threw open the doors, leaving him watching after her. The Doctor steeled himself, and a second later heard "John! Where are you – JOHN?"

He wasn't prepared for the blow to his hearts at the urgency and, yes…love…in her voice as she searched for John. But it was there, that love in her voice. And it was there, that sharp ache in his hearts.

And then John's weary voice, "I'm here Martha…"

He was alive, then. The Doctor was relieved, and yet…

Oh, he'd done it all right. He'd gone and fallen in love with Martha Jones and now everything he'd done to her was coming back at him. Rose, all his lies and half-truths and insensitive remarks before New New York, Joan Redfern.

Oh, it hurt.

He sighed and cleared his throat, running both hands through his hair, getting it together. He decided to give them time to reunite. For them to…what? Embrace each other? Kiss? He truthfully had no idea. And he didn't want to see.

He had work to do, still. First, see that the survivors were properly taken care of, then…deal with the Haemovariform.

He could examine his feelings later, when he had some time to think.

And he _could_ think properly, now! Ah, that was something to be happy about! The Doctor quickly made sure all the settings were correct on the console, already feeling better – he was himself again. His head was clear, free of the Haemovariform tugging and pulling and mocking him. It was buzzing with all those star systems and planets and species and formulas and historic events and people and places again – all as sharp (or obscure, depending on the situation) as ever. Back to normal, at last. He really must stop getting possessed by aliens…

"Doctor!" Martha was calling to him.

He ran down the ramp and out of the TARDIS.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

John lay on his back, his whole body throbbing in pain. It was mostly just dull aching from all the fighting and stress. The wound in his lower back from that wolf attack was not healed because he hadn't had a chance to change into one of them, thank the Lord. So the ripped flesh burned and throbbed and oozed blood, but he almost didn't care.

They were safe, for now. He would probably pass out from the pain any minute, but he made an effort to stay awake until he saw Martha's beautiful face again. He knew she was coming. He knew it in his heart. Morris was talking to him, trying to make sure he wasn't dead. He grunted in answer, but the Deputy's voice may as well have been coming from the other end of a long tunnel.

He couldn't make out much, and it didn't bother him.

Morris moved over to Chester, who was struggling to breathe still. But he was alive. A few broken ribs, some cuts and scrapes, but his boy was _alive_. John sighed, pain shooting up his back from the movement, and turned his gaze up to the night sky.

The white light was gone now. There were people everywhere, dazed and confused, scared, some unconscious. He lay there, listening to the buzz of voices from far away, staring at the stars and the moon, waiting for Martha. Utterly exhausted.

Then one noise cut through all others. The grinding sound of that police box. He felt relief flood his body, then.

A few moments later, he heard Martha's voice. "John! Where are you – JOHN?"

Mister John gathered his strength and struggled up. "I'm here, Martha…" He staggered to his feet, his body feeling weak, and turned to see her running towards him, dodging bodies along the way. She was coming straight for him, a desperately relieved smile on her beautiful face and tears glistening in her large, round eyes.

He braced himself, and she collided with him, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing with all her might. He didn't mind the pain of the impact so much; he simply closed his eyes and savored the feel of her small, warm body pressed tightly against his.

When she finally let go, she swallowed down her tears and said in a tiny voice: "You're hurt!"

"Just a scratch," he joked, winking at her. "I'll be fine."

"No, let me look at you." She ushered him to the nearby tree and sat him next to Chester. "Both of you. Hold still, I'm gonna take care of you, alright?"

She began digging in a heavy black bag she was carrying, and she was pulling out medical supplies and equipment. He marveled, watching her work.

"Take your shirt off. Who else is hurt? Are Lucille and Sweet Mama in the church with the others?" she asked, getting into position behind him. She was helping him peel his bloodstained shirt off when she looked around them for the first time to see the rest of the scene.

John didn't answer right away. At his silence, she looked around at him. He gazed into her eyes, his face set in a mask of stoic grief. "They gone, Martha. Sweet Mama and Lucille…they gone."

A great tremble rippled through Martha, and she gasped in horror. She finally took the whole scene in, her eyes darting around at the chaos as Morris tried to get to every dazed former werewolf he could and reassure them that help was on the way. And then her eyes landed on Sweet Mama, still lying on the porch of the church. She gave a strangled cry and jumped to her feet. "Doctor!" she shouted, running at full speed towards the elderly woman's body.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

The Doctor surveyed the scene, his eyes darting this way and that. He saw Morris and others talking to and helping the people spread out everywhere, and his eyes searched for Martha.

She was on the front steps of the church, knelt over someone. Dread seized him and he began a jog towards her.

By now the choir and the pastor, and all the other townspeople that had come in the Sounding were emerging from the building, crowding around the porch and Martha. The Doctor ran right past Morris, Howlin' Wolf and Mister John, stepping up to the crowd and parting it to get through.

"Martha! What-?" he stopped, his mouth hanging open in mid-sentence, when he saw Sweet Mama's crumpled, blood-stained body laying before Martha. He slowly closed his mouth, his face becoming stone, his hearts falling into his trainers. Oh no. As much as her prying and pushing had annoyed and disturbed him, he truly felt devastated. He felt that rare attachment to this woman – one that only happened every so often in all of his travels (though it was always terrible when he lost people…_some_ people…just…destroyed him).

Martha turned red, tear-filled eyes up to him, her teeth clenched in pain and frustration. "She's bleeding out…I tried…but I can't…" she shook her head, unable to speak further.

The Doctor gazed at her, letting her see his feelings written all over his face, before he turned away and his face became stone again. He looked down at Sweet Mama, and noticed that she was still breathing – just barely. She was fatally wounded, bleeding internally, and would go any moment, but somehow she managed to inch her hand towards him, and beckon weakly with her soft, worn fingers.

He steeled himself, and knelt down slowly, until he was very close to her. Martha looked into his face, a tiny bit hopeful, but he ignored everyone, focusing his gaze straight on Sweet Mama's fluttering eyes.

The elderly, kind, loving and wise woman fixed her gaze on him. He was amazed. Even as she died, he saw such love and light in her eyes. Such selflessness. Such motherly devotion. Her gaze was only for him. He felt it impact him as very few things could. And he was suddenly immensely grateful to have known her.

"Doc…tor…" she managed in a tiny, tiny whisper. He leaned closer.

"Yes?" he whispered back gently. "I'm here."

"Tha…thank…you…"

He shook his head very slowly, very sadly. "I was too late. Too…slow."

She touched his hand, and he held it, squeezing tightly, trying to convey his feelings to her where he could not articulate them aloud. "No…no…you saved…us…all. Don't…" she shuddered in pain, and he felt something break inside him; felt his mask of stone tremble with emotion. "Don't…be sad…for…me. I'm goin'…to meet…my Lord. Oh…I'm so tired, Doctor…so…tired…"

He took a moment to gather himself, to hold back the emotion threatening to break through. "Then go to him."

"Yes…Precious Lord…lead me on…" she managed a very slight nod, and the corner of her mouth turned up into a smile. "Would like…to…feed you…some more…though. You too…skinny…boy."

He chuckled cheerlessly, a very small tear escaping the corner of his eye. He wiped it harshly away.

"Tell my…son…tell my…boy John…"

"I will. He's here. He hears you," The Doctor told her firmly, squeezing her hand again supportively.

"Martha…where is…?"

"I'm here." Martha's voice shook, though she made a brave effort to sound strong. She took Sweet Mama's hand as well. The dying woman looked at them both, and closed her eyes.

"Love each other…you hear? You…need her…don't…run from…love…Doctor. God gave us…love…for a reason…don't…turn your back on it. _Love_ her…! Love her…don't be…afraid."

The Doctor looked into Martha's eyes, and said (with a confidence and a determination so fierce that it scared him): "I will."

Martha merely nodded, and he could plainly see the love and devotion in her large, brown eyes.

Then he turned to Sweet Mama again, and leaned in even closer – close enough to her ear that only she would hear. And he told her: "My name…" he paused, swallowing back the momentous emotion behind such a confession, "…is Chrístothetasigmaoraleus. But you can call me Chrísto."

Her eyes began that far away look, letting him know that she was breathing her last breaths. She smiled softly, and her fingers turned to grip his hand. "Chrísto…I love you…" she uttered, so softly that it hardly made any sound at all. And her face relaxed, at peace.

She was gone.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Doctor William Lloyd sighed.

In two days, they had finally cleaned up the mess from that horrifying night.

They had been huddled in the boiler room, terrified and helpless, and all seemed quiet, but they were too afraid to go up and see. And then the blue police box materialized. Lloyd could still remember the immense feeling of relief when he heard that grinding noise.

And The Doctor stepped out, tall and silhouetted against the dim light in the room.

"Doctor Lloyd?" he called, and Lloyd knew they were saved. As a man, and a doctor, he did not often feel such helplessness; such stark relief. It was his job to keep a cool head and call the shots. But not in that moment – which confirmed in his mind that without The Doctor, they truly would've been doomed.

Now the hospital was back in general order – they'd taken on quite a few new patients; products of the destruction and confusion of the attack. Those who'd been transformed needed to be looked over and rehabilitated. Those who'd been injured, made whole again. Those who'd died, prepared for their final rest.

He'd been working around the clock making sure everyone got what he or she needed. The other doctors and nursing staff sacrificed their own recuperation time in order to see the job done. Now things were quiet again, and though the trauma of what had descended upon their small Mississippi town would haunt them for a while yet, at least they were out of danger.

He sat now in his lab, looking over the notes he and Martha had made while they'd spent all those days trying to find a cure for the strange virus that started this whole mess. The Doctor had explained what finally did it – and Lloyd was fascinated. He grilled The Doctor for details, but the man breezed through the story distractedly and was off before he could get any calculable information out of him.

He wasn't sure he even wanted to go public with these results just yet. His ambition had withered somewhat with the very real danger he and his patients had been in the other night. He needed time to think. To rest. To carefully check over everything and perform more tests. The Doctor had been right – this was unlike anything they'd ever seen, or would ever think to see again. Vain ambition did not have a place among what had transpired. Instead serious, conscientious action was the way to go.

The Doctor had swept in, given a bunch of orders, oversaw some things, examined patients, made some complicated and truly fantastic explanations, then swept out again. Doctor Lloyd only saw the blur of the lanky man moving this way and that, having to focus on his own responsibilities, and now sat quiet in the early morning in his lab, wondering if he'd ever see the strange couple again. The Doctor and Martha Jones. He couldn't wrap his head around them. They did not belong. And yet…they had been exactly what this town needed at its darkest hour. He was confident of that.

He stood up slowly from the stool at the lab table and closed the logbook. He was preparing to go back out to check on patients when the door breezed open and the lanky man in question strolled in, followed by the petit Negro woman Lloyd had grown to be surprisingly fond of.

While The Doctor was dressed as he'd always been (that same brown pinstriped suit and canvas shoes), Martha was wearing clothes much different from the modest dresses he was used to seeing her in. Now she wore denim breeches that hugged her curves, a maroon top with thin straps, her hair pulled up out of her face.

"Doctor…!" he exclaimed quietly, smiling despite himself.

"Doctor William Lloyd!" The Doctor chirped, grabbing his hand and shaking firmly.

"Well I didn't think I'd see you two, again. Hello Miss Martha." He shook their hands in turn and stood back, sighing again heavily.

"Hello, Doctor Lloyd," she spoke softly, returning his smile. He settled on it just then (after having debated with himself over having such a notion the whole time they'd worked together) – she was beautiful. And she looked utterly exhausted. And…ready to leave. They both did. This was goodbye, then.

The Doctor stuck his hands in his trouser pockets and gave Lloyd a look that confirmed his suspicion.

"Thank you…" the lanky man said quietly. "You were brilliant."

"Not sure about that, but I'll take it." Lloyd responded modestly. "I admit, when your funny box disappeared on us, I thought it would all go to hell in a hand basket. But…if it hadn't been for you two…"

"You kept these people safe," The Doctor reassured him. "All hands on deck, remember?"

Lloyd chuckled and nodded. "You can say _that_ again." He frowned. "Off to more hospitals to investigate strange medical phenomenon?"

The Doctor pursed his lips. "Ohhh…I think we've had our fill of hospitals for a while. Right, Martha?"

She scoffed and nodded wearily.

"Is there any way I can persuade you to stay on a while longer? This research…" he gestured behind him to the logbook on the lab table. "I'd like to keep at it, there's some important stuff in that book. Stuff we could change things with. Really change things! I mean, it didn't help us in this situation, but Miss Martha came up with things I've never dreamed of-!"

"Oh, not me…" Martha said modestly, shaking her head and looking down at her shoes as The Doctor suddenly moved towards the windows at the far side of the room.

Lloyd stepped closer to her when The Doctor moved. He touched her shoulder, and felt a change within himself. Felt himself viewing certain things…a bit differently than before. "Miss Martha Jones…I hope I'm not speaking out of turn when I say…you are right. You aren't just intelligent for a Negro woman. You're one of the best people I know – man _or_ woman, White or Negro. It has truly been a pleasure working with you, ma'am. And I dare say I'd very much like to again."

She looked up at him and smiled as The Doctor gave them a private moment. "Same here."

"_Will_ I have that pleasure ever again?" Lloyd asked unabashedly.

She regarded him sadly for a moment, then shook her head. "I won't be back. I'm not…" she stopped.

He understood. "You're not from here." There was a myriad of meanings behind that statement, most of which he was only now starting to grasp. He nodded dejectedly.

"Well!" The Doctor announced suddenly, moving from behind Lloyd to join Martha again at the door. "We'd better be off, then, eh?"

"Be safe." Lloyd said genuinely. "God be with you."

"Goodbye." Martha reached up, almost despite of herself, and gave him a hug around the neck.

The Doctor gave Lloyd a lazy salute. Martha waved and they turned to go.

When they'd left him alone, he felt his weariness getting to him finally. He turned to make sure everything in the lab was secure so he could go home and sit down and study his notes with a nice, stiff brandy and then fall into a deep sleep.

The logbook was gone.

At first he stared at the table in shock, then turned to the door and contemplated running after them. But then he stopped himself. He thought about it – and he found that he was not surprised, nor resentful, that The Doctor had taken it.

In fact, he laughed. For a long while. Until tears sprouted in his eyes and that brandy sounded mighty wonderful right about now.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Sheriff Hugh Morris stood in his new office, gazing down at this morning's _West Point Tribune_.

There was a black and white of himself on the cover at the city hall press conference in which he had announced his succession of Maxwell Downey as the Sheriff. He was shaking hands with the Deputy Mayor, who had been sworn in (until the proper election) to succeed White earlier the morning of the photograph. After the moment captured in the photo, the press had grilled him for a solid hour about what happened.

Luckily, he and the Deputy Mayor (who'd been one of White's victims) decided to keep things as tightly under wraps as possible – and the FBI and CIA agreed. An organization called UNIT came asking questions, too, but when he refused to give them the answers they were looking for (particularly about if a man called The Doctor had been involved), they vowed to return and take what they wanted.

Well, he'd be ready for them.

"UNIT!" The Doctor had scoffed with annoyance. Then he bit his lip. "Er…better not tell them I'm here." And he disappeared promptly after that. Morris wondered if he'd ever see the man again.

He flipped to the page where the story continued. There was a memorial piece about Sheriff Downey, all mostly words about how faithfully and bravely he served the county. Very little information about his death except that he 'died on duty'. The design of the higher-ups. Morris couldn't say that he disagreed with them. The less complicated things were, the better shape they'd be in to move on from this.

There was another story on the opposite page, asking 'DO WEREWOLVE'S EXIST? GOVERNMENT STAYS MUM.'

He didn't read it. He already knew what it said. The disaster had occurred across five southern states (all those that White had visited on his stump trail). Eyewitnesses had been bought off, it would seem. And in the wake of the Depression, who could blame them for keeping quiet if it meant they'd be saved from starvation and ruin with a hefty sum of cash? He wasn't naïve enough to think that all of them would stay quiet. The paper had managed to find a few that swore they saw it happen – wolves, as big as men, stalking the night killing and infecting people like the plague. The people who'd been turned truly did not have any memory of what happened to them; of that he was certain. Doctor Lloyd and many others had confirmed it. All they had were blank spots in their memories – periods of time they could not account for. They were traumatized, for sure, but he was honestly thankful they couldn't remember what they'd become; what they'd done.

A few more pages in, they started in on Mayor Henry Lawson White. He was upstate, in what laymen called the nuthouse. He'd been exposed to those alien wolves and their crushing infection the longest. And the man had damned near lost his mind. He had no memory of the past year, only terrifying nightmares of blood and war and beasts. Morris felt sorry for him.

Then there was Ed and Homer. His men. They had no memory of turning, just like the others. But they had been involved in Black Market trading with Roy Calhoun and the Mayor. And they had confessed to murdering Downey, but since the higher-ups were anxious to cover up the murder, they sacrificed the men for the trading and swept everything else under the rug. Both men went quietly. Calhoun, that spineless snake, broke like a rusted pipe, spilling his guts, naming names until they threatened to put him in the nuthouse too. Morris didn't want to know about the rest of it. All three were behind bars.

He closed the paper and tossed it in the trash.

As he looked up through the windows overlooking the station, he saw The Doctor and Martha Jones approaching Maureen at the front desk.

They exchanged words and Maureen turned to beckon to Morris. He stepped out of his office and stood in the doorway with his hands on his belt. "Well, I'll be damned…didn't think I'd see you again, Doc. Miss Martha."

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair and raised an eyebrow at Martha. "Blimey, we've been getting that a lot today, haven't we?"

She smiled. "Yep."

The Doctor led her past Maureen's desk towards Morris and offered his hand. Morris took it, gripping it firmly.

"I expect that's cause it's how we all felt. You're a hard man to pin down, Doc. You breeze in and outta sight like the wind; you too, Miss Jones."

"Weelll…part and parcel, really." Morris didn't know what that meant, but he shook his head and chuckled anyway. "And look at you! You're _Sheriff_ Morris, now! Look, Martha, he's got a shiny new badge and everything." The Doctor whistled low and elbowed Martha in the shoulder, nodding at Morris' badge.

"Impressive." Martha nodded in agreement. "And well deserved."

"Thank you, ma'am. You know, I still ain't got a Deputy yet. Most of my men are in recovery. All's quiet right now, but that don't mean it'll stay that way." He gestured to The Doctor. "What do ya say, Doc?"

"Ohhh, I'm not cut out for law enforcement, Sheriff, trust me. Apart from being allergic to those uniforms you wear, I'm not really one for guns."

Morris chuckled again, expecting nothing less. "Yeah, I figured as much." There was a bit of an awkward pause, and then Hugh looked at Martha. "How's John holding up?"

She took a deep breath, and The Doctor lowered his gaze to the floor, sliding his hands in his trouser pockets.

"The funeral's today," she answered quietly. "We were just on our way."

The Doctor remained silent.

"You mind if I tag along?" Morris asked.

"Of course. I think he'd appreciate that," Martha brightened.

"Sweet Mama was truly a great woman. Her sister Hattie practically raised me, you know. And I wasn't always such a good kid."

"She told me. She was very fond of you, I think. She could see your potential. And she was right."

Morris appreciated hearing that very much. "Can I give you a lift?"

"Oh, we've got the TARDIS," The Doctor finally spoke, looking up again. "We'll meet you there."

"Sure thing, Doc. See you both in a bit." They turned to go, but he called them back, having suddenly remembered something. "Hey, Doc wait…"

They stood watching as he disappeared into his office and removed something from a package he had on a shelf behind his desk. He brought it back out to them and handed it to The Doctor. It was a box of his wife's homemade chocolate gingersnaps. "Laurel sent these on. I told ya: if you helped me rid this town of this mess I'd hand 'em over. You kept your word – so here's me keepin' mine."

The Doctor's face lit up and he bounced on his toes as he accepted the box. "Chocolate gingersnaps! Ohhhh I _love_ these – look, Martha!"

Martha laughed softly. "I see."

He shook Morris' hand vigorously. "Cheers to Laurel! Will she be away much longer?"

"They got it bad in Texas, too, Doctor. She's helping her family cope but she'll be home soon." Both of them recognized the longing in his eyes, and they politely refrained from pushing him to talk about it further.

"We'll see you at the church, yeah?" Martha asked gently. He nodded firmly and they turned once again to leave, a noticeable pep in The Doctor's step as he carried his box of treats.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

They stood in Percy's warm attic room, and The Doctor was struggling with his tie.

He was wearing his black suit again, only instead of his bowtie Martha had borrowed a tie from John for him to wear. She wore the same black dress she'd borrowed from the TARDIS, along with the sturdy button down heels Sweet Mama had given her when she first arrived. She wore her hair down.

She watched him in the mirror, until he sighed and gestured at her reflection helplessly.

"Martha, could you…?"

She chuckled and stood up from her perch against the chest of drawers to walk towards him. "You traipse all over the universe, back and forwards through time, saving whole worlds without breaking a sweat…but a simple neck tie stumps you. Why am I not surprised?"

Their eyes met as she reached him, and he returned her soft smile. "I thought I told you? I don't do domestic."

Her smile faded a bit, and he noticed, but neither of them spoke about it. Instead she took his shoulders and turned him around, and gently moved his hands out of the way so that she could tie it properly. He watched her face as she did. She concentrated on the task, looping the black fabric, sliding into the loop, tugging down, adjusting. He simply watched her, knowing that there was a veritable mountain of things they still needed to discuss. To set right. Not least of which was both their fears of how they should proceed now that they'd both finally confessed themselves…and made love…

He reached up and ran his thumb over her soft cheek, and she finally looked up at him, smoothing his tie (John's tie) and jacket. "Are you alright?"

She smiled sadly and nodded. "Of course."

He didn't believe her. It was one of his rules – a thing that kept him moving, kept him from coming apart completely: don't get attached. Well, she had. And he couldn't entirely say that he hadn't. Yes…they had a lot to discuss.

Then she blinked and smirked at him. "Hold on, mister." And she swatted him on the shoulder. "You wear neck ties every day!"

He grinned sheepishly. "Do I? Hmmm…_Pretty Woman_; Julia Roberts; Richard Gere. That scene when she does his tie up for 'im. You know, everyone loves that finger-snapping jewelry box scene, but mehhh. Tie scene. That's where it's at." She swatted him again. "Can't blame a bloke for trying, eh?"

"You're too much…"

"I hope not," he said, his eyes darkening.

He gazed at her intensely, his thumb now playing with the short sleeve of her dress. She looked up into his face, feeling her whole body flood with heat that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. His fingers slid to grip her arm gently, and she took in a shallow breath as he pulled her towards him. "I thought you said you didn't do domestic...?" she breathed as he leaned his head down towards hers.

His eyes landed on her lips. "I don't."

The Doctor pulled her against him and pressed his lips to hers. After a few gentle kisses, he nudged her lips apart and slid his tongue inside, circling hers slowly. He exhaled heatedly through his nostrils and she moaned softly as he let go of her arm and circled her around her petit waist, pulling her more tightly against him until she was standing on her tiptoes. He took his time kissing her – slowly, thoroughly, indulgently – one hand in his trouser pocket and the other gripping her hip firmly. Now that he was free to do so, he was extremely intent on not taking it for granted.

He had wanted to repeat that genetic transfer almost instantly that day on the moon, and it pestered him like nobody's business every time she bit her lip or turned her face up to his. He truly believed that he must somewhere, deep down, like torturing himself – for why else would he ask her to travel with him, knowing that it would be a daily struggle for self control? Why else would he grab her and snatch her into his world to distract him knowing he had yet still to properly mourn the loss of Rose? He remembered all those instances and torturous thoughts now, as he tasted her lips and mouth painstakingly, his need escaping him in fervent groans from deep within his throat.

Martha reached up to grasp him around the neck, her eyes closed and the sorrow and confusion from everything they'd been through melting away for just a moment.

They were rocking on their feet, keening back and forth at each other, their breathing growing rapid, heavy, yet shallow.

He finally released her lips, but didn't let her move away from him. He breathed on her, leaning his forehead against hers, his eyes shut tight as he struggled for control. He opened his mouth to speak: "Martha Jones…"

There was a knock at the door. "Doctor? Martha?" It was Mister John.

The Doctor opened his eyes and they looked at each other. His expression hardened, and Martha turned away to walk towards the door. She opened it and John's tall, sturdy figure stepped inside. "We're headin' down to the church now."

There was a heavy pause as they all thought of Sweet Mama.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

It seemed like the whole town had turned up.

Lucille had been buried in Memphis, where her family resided. She had a son, who'd come to collect her.

But here, at Sweet Mama's burial, every living soul in White Station seemed to be there. There was a lot of singing. There were a lot of tears. John remained stoic and silent, as did Chester, standing by his father, the entire time. They carried her coffin to the cemetery, chants and singing all the way. Martha stood close to John, and The Doctor stood close to Martha, and Sheriff Morris stood respectfully behind.

When she was being put into the ground, The Doctor leaned close to Martha and began to whisper.

"That's the thing no one seems to remember about heroes, Martha…" he told her, his eyes roaming around them, at all the faces of the people mourning their beloved Sweet Mama. "They come in all shapes and sizes. There are those that lead, those that are remembered forever…Martin Luther King Jr., Gandhi, Alexander the Great, Nelson Mandela, Queen Elizabeth…but for every one of them…there are thousands of people who scraped and scratched and clawed…and died…for something they believed in. Those that quietly saved lives every day…like her." He gestured to Sweet Mama's coffin, and Martha nodded, tears pooling in her eyes.

Then she looked up at him, wiping her face, a look of sad curiosity gracing her features. "What did you say to her, before she died?"

He looked straight ahead for a moment, his eyes unfocused as he remembered exactly what he'd said. And he turned to meet her gaze. "I told her that she would be remembered," he lied simply, feeling his hearts clench. "And that you and I would carry her name and the things she's done across the universe."

Martha smiled and slipped her hand in his. "Thank you."

And he squeezed her hand in his, not affectionately (though she didn't recognize the difference now), but because he knew that one day she would realize that he'd lied to her – and rather than forgiving him, she would leave him.

When it was over, The Doctor silently retreated with Morris as Mister John took Martha's hand.

They walked along in front, and Morris walked with The Doctor in back, through the woods towards the TARDIS.

Martha stared at the ground; at her shoes crunching the dead leaves, grass, and earth underneath them. She concentrated on the movement of her feet and the feel of John's strong, warm hand holding hers. She had been to many strange, wonderful and terrible places with The Doctor – but never had a goodbye been so hard for her. Until now. And it didn't help that The Doctor was behind them, watching. Though he kept a good distance because he was trying to respect her feelings. He meant well.

"Martha," John spoke, his voice deep and calm. She finally looked at him. "I wouldn't change it. Any of it. You hear?"

She nodded, still unsure if she was able to speak without her voice cracking with emotion.

They walked on in silence for a while, and then they finally reached the TARDIS. She could hear Morris and The Doctor talking quietly somewhere behind them, but she couldn't see them. He really was trying to give her and John their time to say goodbye properly, in any fashion she wished, without judgment. She loved him all the more for it.

When they stopped walking and faced each other, Martha's restraint broke, and she reached up to hug him tightly, burying her face in the collar of his shirt. She breathed in deeply, inhaling his distinct scent for the last time. He held her against him, lifting her up to her toes, his arms strong yet gentle.

"Woman…" he said into her hair, his deep voice rumbling against her neck, "you are a hell of a thang."

She laughed into his shirt, despite herself. "So are you, Mister."

He gave her a tiny squeeze and released her, settling her back on her feet again. "You go and make sure that Doctor knows how wonderful a creature you are," he told her kindly, stroking the tears from her face. "And if he give you any trouble, you come on back to me."

"Only you," she promised. Then she paused, a cascade of feelings plummeted through her, and she gasped: "John…?"

He shook his head. "No, don't be like that, now. I know how much you love him. And I know you got yourself a place in here – " he touched her chest, " – for me. That's all I need. That means the world."

"You'll be alright?"

He laughed, then, his voice hearty and deep. "Sure I will! If my Sweet Mama taught me anything, it's that God don't give us anything we can't handle. She raised me right – raised us all right. The GYST House is still standin', thanks to you and The Doctor, and I got my boy Chester back. I'm gonna do what I shoulda years ago. I'm gonna get this town outta darkness, bring us back up kickin' and screamin' if I have to."

"Good man…" The Doctor appeared, Morris close by him. He approached them and smiled admiringly at John. "Like I said, Martha. Heroes. All shapes and sizes. Your son the Howlin' Wolf will be a legend one day, John. But you…well, you're his inspiration and this town's new leader."

"That's right," Morris agreed. "And I want to tell ya, John…" he sighed and stepped up to the man. "Things are gonna be different. It won't all change at once, but me and the Doc here agree – you and me are the men to get the ball rollin'. We may be the only som'bitches who feel this way in all of Mississippi, but if we can get this little county straightened out, well maybe others will follow. What do ya say? You up for it?"

"That sounds mighty fine, Sheriff," John nodded.

"Call me Hugh," he offered his hand. "Your mama and her sister have been in my life since I was a boy. Ain't no reason for us to pretend we ain't like family."

John hesitated, his eyes moving from Morris to The Doctor and finally to Martha. She understood. This was the South, and these were the hardest of times. John had seen too much and lost too many people to trust so easily that things could be different. But The Doctor knew sometimes trust was all it took. And he also knew that John was an open-minded man.

So John took Morris' hand and they shook.

Then it was time to go.

The Doctor looked at Martha, who nodded stiffly.

"Doc you sure you won't stay a little longer?" Morris asked. "Chester says there's a celebration down at the juke joint. I'm thinkin' of headin' down there myself after I see to some things at the station. On duty, though," he quickly reassured them at The Doctor's raised eyebrow. "No drinkin' I promise."

"Thanks, but…time we moved on, gentlemen…" The Doctor said, not so apologetically. He was beginning to feel a pressure to keep moving; his natural instinct to be off, the call of the TARDIS, the pull of the universe, the turn of time. He caught the tiny shift in Martha's eyes, however, as stepped up to Morris and clapped him on the back. "Nice working with you, Sheriff!"

Morris chuckled. "Same here, Doc."

He moved on to John. "Good luck."

"You too." John's voice held another meaning in it, and The Doctor silently agreed to take good care of Martha before releasing his hand and turning to jog up to the TARDIS.

He produced his key and unlocked the door, opening it a tiny bit and turning to wait for Martha. She was hugging Morris. "Take care." And then she turned to John. She sighed, and he could tell that she was holding back more tears. "Goodbye."

He touched her face, and she touched his hand that rested on her cheek, and The Doctor turned away because he knew that John was going to kiss her. And John did, and she kissed back, and then she was walking towards the TARDIS.

She didn't look at him as he allowed her to enter before him. He gave both men a salute and stepped inside, closing the door shut behind him – anxious, now, to get away.

"Goodbye…" John said to the closed doors. Then a noise started, and a wind picked up, and before their eyes, the blue box disappeared.

«∑Ω§» **«END»** «∑Ω§»

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**Well, there you have it folks. The end. Thank you all so very much for reading. As as a paring gift of thanks...stay tuned for an epilogue. ;P**


	29. Epilogue

**So this turned out a teensy bit longer than I expected, but I think it's better this way. Bonus material. Once again, all my readers and reviewers, you guys are awesome. I definitely will be working on new Ten/Martha fics. I've got plot bunnies a'plenty, trust me. For now though, I'm going to focus on getting my lone Eleven/Martha fic under way. Thanks again!**

* * *

**EPILOGUE.**

Martha was sitting on the jump seat when The Doctor closed the door behind him. He glanced at her as he strode up the ramp, but immediately went to the console and began his routine. She watched him silently, her expression unreadable. He went through the motions unhurriedly, somewhat pensive.

He was anxious to get going, but something held him back; he felt that warring of emotions within him again. He was beginning to realize, to his unease, that it was starting – his feelings for her were beginning to take precedence over his sense of self-preservation. He had broken the lines between traveler and companion, and as he'd been afraid of, the consequences didn't waste time slinking their way in. The process that he had begun with Rose before she was taken from him; the one he swore to never, _ever_ allow; was beginning now, the moment he set foot in the TARDIS.

He desperately wanted to get away from Mississippi in 1939, but he had to make sure of something first.

As he reached the monitor, he held a hand over the keyboard, his fingers touching the keys lightly; staring at it sightlessly. She still hadn't spoken or moved. He chanced a look in her direction, and found her examining her hands. After a few moments of him watching her, she spoke softly, still looking at her fingers: "Ninety-two."

He raised an eyebrow. "Beg your pardon?"

Martha looked at him and smiled. It wasn't as bright and eager as it usually was, but it was there. Warm and slightly amused. "Ninety-two, that's my first random number." She hopped down from the jump seat and walked up to the console, leaning her stomach against it, playing with the controls though not really disturbing them. Her smile grew wider, and he couldn't help a smile twitching at his own lips as he watched, and she looked up to the ceiling, thinking. "Then…maybe…seventeen?"

"Ninety-two and seventeen…alright." He punched in the coordinates. "One more time, Miss Jones?" he asked gently. She looked into his eyes finally, and sighed.

"Oh, I dunno…seventy-one?" He punched the last number in, still watching her, and flipped the hand break. When he didn't announce where she had sent them, her eyes darted to the back of the monitor before rising curiously to his again, a tiny crease forming between her brows. "Well? Come on then, where are we going?"

"Doesn't matter," he said simply, shrugging, one hand in his pocket. "At the moment we're hovering in the Vortex. I've set her to orbit."

"Why? Are the coordinates no good or something?"

"I don't care about the coordinates right now."

Martha's brow furrowed fully now; she looked confused.

Before she could open her mouth to speak, he moved suddenly, coming to stand next to her. He kept a small distance between them, however, as he wasn't sure how to…how to _do_ this. Blast! It had been easier with Rose – like breathing. Every day, a little bit of his armor slipped, and he found himself telling her things without even thinking.

_I was a father once…_

_We can make it work; I'd be willing to try…_

_You could spend the rest of your life with me…_

But Martha Jones was not Rose Tyler. Obviously. Sure, he had been lonely; sure he needed someone to distract him; and sure – he unfairly chose Martha to travel with him specifically _because_ she was nothing like the woman he had begun to fall in love with and lost. (Then proceeded to remind her any chance he got that she wasn't – and not in a good way.) But the one difference between Martha and Rose that drove him to keep his developing feelings for her buried deep down where he hoped she'd never see?

Yes, Martha loved him.

But she did not _need_ him.

With Rose there was Mickey, but Mickey may as well have been invisible when The Doctor was around. It was not arrogance; it was the truth. It was easy for him to abide Mickey. Even get along with him. Because The Doctor knew (and again: truth, not arrogance) that Mickey lost Rose the moment she agreed to travel with him. Reconfirmed Christmas night when she took his brand new hand and accepted his brand new face and left with him yet again.

But Martha and Mister John…there was no easy confidence within him on that score, even though she stood with him now in the TARDIS, willing to go on. He had to make sure.

The only way to do that…was to tell the truth.

"Martha…" he began, leaning his head back, swallowing and trying to form the words properly, so that she would understand. "I offered to take Joan Redfern as my companion that last day in 1913."

Martha's eyes slowly changed, as the meaning of what he was saying settled in.

"I offered," he said now, his eyes burrowing into hers, "and she refused."

She stood silent for a beat, staring at him. Then she asked: "And if she hadn't?"

He reverted to his old way, at a loss as to how to answer just yet, "It really doesn't matter-"

"Yes it does. Don't you _dare_ say it doesn't."

He straightened up and nodded, swallowing down his uneasiness, dipping his head. "I know, right, yes – you're right. You're absolutely…" He sighed hard. "If she hadn't, I would've brought her along. I told her…that I could be everything John Smith was. That he was still inside; somewhere. I lied to her."

"Why?" she squinted at him, her eyes flickering at him beseechingly.

"Because at the time I really did want to be. Because I felt responsible. Because…it felt good to make her think I could. Just for a moment."

She shook her head, turning away from him and stepping from the console. "Why are you telling me this now? What difference does it make? You obviously didn't care how I would feel about it _then_…"

He stepped up behind her, close, though not daring to touch. "I wasn't thinking."

"You can say that again."

"But I am, now."

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means…that…look, I'm _trying!_" he snapped unexpectedly, a swell of frustration rising within him.

She spun around and glared at him. "Doctor, don't worry. You don't have to. I don't need your guilt or your pity. Stop beating yourself up about it and making soppy confessions and just get on with it."

He blinked at her; it was his turn to be confused. "What – get on with what?" he asked, his eyes wide.

She took a deep breath, and when she spoke next, her voice had lowered again. "Like we said in the creek, it was lovely while it lasted; while we were there it was nice to fantasize but…now you're back in your TARDIS and back in your right mind and…you don't do…_this_." She gestured between herself and him with her finger.

And she looked gutted, but resolute, and he wanted to grab her or kick himself because she'd gotten the exact opposite meaning from everything he was trying to say. And still, the frustration rose up again. He clenched his teeth. "That isn't what I'm saying!"

"Oh no?"

"No," he said very seriously.

"Then what?"

He decided to just come out with it. "Do you want to be with John?"

"What?" her mouth dropped open.

"Do you love him?" He rephrased.

She hesitated. "Yes. But-"

"Because if that's what you want, I won't stop you. I'll go get him. Right now."

"Are you kidding me?"

"No."

She shook her head in disbelief, seemingly speechless for a moment. Then she snorted bitterly. "And what would we do? Kip up together in the TARDIS? Or – right, shall I go and live in the GYST House and play nursemaid? Doctor, yes I love him. But that was in 1939, and he's long dead before I'm born, and even though you were human at the time, you loved Joan. And all of it hurts, but neither of us can take it back. So I'd say we're even. Can we move on?" He had no answer for her, and was beginning to see how daft his insecurities sounded when spoken aloud.

He could plainly see now that such an idea was absurd. Had he really gotten his mind back or was he still suffering from lingering side effects? Blimey, what a stupid notion! And now he was embarrassed, and annoyed.

His inner voice chided: _See? __**This**__ is why getting involved is rubbish! She makes you feel like a fumbling teenager!_

Martha watched him for a long while, and he stood stiffly, waiting, not trusting himself to speak just yet as he'd probably cock things up further. She whispered, finally: "I want to be with _you_. Haven't I made that clear enough?"

He dared to feel relief flood him head to foot. He lowered his gaze to his trainers. "I thought that…you know, if I told you the truth, about Joan, that maybe you wouldn't feel like you _had_ to-"

"Doctor, I made my choice the moment I met you." She crossed her arms and gazed at him compassionately.

He peeked up at her. "You did?"

"Yes! You maniac!" She laughed at him. "I mean – yes I have a place in my heart for John, but there was never a _choice_. He belongs in his time and I belong in mine. I _belong_ with _you_."

His eyebrows shot up. "Oh…" he exhaled softly.

Martha faltered. She desperately wanted to ask him why he was suddenly so unsure, but a big part of her was afraid of the answer. That very familiar and very unpleasant feeling came over her again – that feeling she got when he didn't seem to see her; hid things from her; didn't seem to notice how the things he said affected her. It was obviously hard for him; being so open with his feelings. Was he trying to tell her that they'd made a mistake? Or something else? She was bloody well going to find out.

"Doctor – talk. Now."

He ran a hand through his hair and over his face. Then he scoffed at himself. "Ohhh, I don't know what I'm doing, Martha."

"That's kind of obvious."

He nodded slowly, now rubbing the back of his neck. "It was easier with…" he looked up at her and she steeled herself, nodding for him to continue, "with Rose."

The Doctor dropped his hand. Then suddenly he chuckled.

"Oh, I resisted at first." Martha watched his eyes narrow to a far away place; a memory. And his smile was soft and sad. "But after a while, we just…fell into place. I thought, for the first time in such a _long_ time…I thought: she fit. _We_ fit." He focused on her again. "And then it was over. In the blink of an eye."

"And…" Martha shifted on her feet, "you don't feel that way with me."

His eyes were round and dark, his expression still looked forlorn. He shook his head slowly. "No."

Her heart sank. Now it was she who uttered "Oh."

He frowned, realizing that yet again she'd misinterpreted him. Okay – so it was now or never. _Get it right, you lanky git_ he scolded himself.

"No, you make me feel…like I have to work." He began, straightening up. "Work _hard_. Like with the Haemovariform, I'm…useless. I have no idea how to proceed. It was never that way with Rose. With Rose I was certain – or at least starting to be – and that was good, but _this_ is... She's gone. She's gone, I'll never see her again and right now I don't ever have to, do you understand?"

He strode forward, his hand out of his pocket now, gripping the air, the frustration showing on his face. She didn't look as if she did understand, but he could tell she was listening intently. Her mind was at work, analyzing his words. He pressed on.

"I wasn't prepared for this. I don't know how to bloody cope! I've _never_ wanted anyone as much as I want you and that scares the _hell_ out of me and there you have it." He finished in a rush of jumbled words.

Finally she breathed, very softly: "How do you think _I_ feel?" Martha closed the small remaining space between them, looking up into his face. "I didn't have to come with you, did I? I've got a life, you know. I've got school and a family, and a place in the universe waiting for me."

"That's part of what scares me, Martha."

She gave him a small smile. "But they'll all just have to wait."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

"Again – that's not very comforting."

"That's how love works, Doctor. You could get bored with me. You could come to your senses and wonder what you ever saw in me. I could panic and run screaming for the hills. You could-"

"I could offer someone else companionship," he continued for her. "Someone much taller than you."

Her smile grew. "And I could meet another handsome bloke like John."

"I could make you dig out an ingrown toenail." He reached out and circled his arms around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

"I could make you _paint_ my toenails." He arched an eyebrow.

"I could insult your mother – _really_ take the mickey out of her – totally by accident, of course!" He did a terrified face and she laughed.

"I could accidentally cause a paradox where neither of us where ever born."

"Weelll that's not likely without a paradox machine," she swatted at him and he grinned.

"We could get stuck someplace where _you_ have to be _my_ servant for three months."

"Ooh, that might not be a bad situation. I _could_ paint your toenails." He sounded surprised by himself. So was she.

"I thought you didn't do domestic?"

"Oh, love, that's not domestic, that's kinky. Right up my alley."

They laughed quietly for a moment. Then The Doctor thought about it, and his smile faded.

"I could disappoint you."

"_I _could disappoint _you_," she whispered.

"You could remember that I'm not easy, Martha. I judge. I'm quick-tempered. I'm insensitive without thinking."

"You could remember that I'm only human. And I can be _too_ sensitive sometimes."

"You could realize that I'm not John Smith. Or John Grey – or any other John."

"You could realize…that I'm not Rose. I'm just Martha Jones."

"You could get…" he sucked in a quick breath, his hearts clenching, and when he continued his voice wavered with retrained emotion. "You could get stuck like Rose. Or die. Because of me. Because I couldn't protect you."

"So could you. Because of me. Because _I_ couldn't protect _you_."

"I could regenerate," he corrected her, his voice low and solemn.

"Regenerate?" She tilted her head.

He nodded slowly. "Change my face. Change my personality. Change every cell in my body until you don't recognize me. That's how Time Lords live so long, Martha. That's how we survive. Humans don't have that option."

She was silent. Thinking.

"And you could…not want me anymore. If I change."

She gazed at him, and he looked down at her with pensive eyes. "Any of that could happen, Doctor, it's true."

The Doctor studied her face. Her eyes sparkled. He found himself remembering Sweet Mama's dying words – well, her only words to him the whole time he'd been there, it seemed. _Love her…don't be afraid…love ain't somethin' you run from._ Well, he loved running, truth be told. But this was not the occasion.

He muttered hopefully, "I'm in if you are..."

"I'm in, Doctor," Martha breathed happily. "I'm _so_ in!"

And he picked her up and swung her around in his arms and she laughed until he set her down again. The he took her face into his hands and kissed her with such abandon that it silenced her laughter full stop. When they paused to catch their breath, he leaned his forehead against hers. "I'm sorry…" he whispered.

She leaned back to look at him, a flicker of puzzlement flashing across her face. "For what?"

He shrugged, looking into her eyes beseechingly. "For 1913, for asking Joan to travel with me…for not taking you dancing."

"Well, Time Lord, you've got plenty of time to make it up."

He paused, seeming to think on that for a minute. Then he grinned and held up a finger, releasing her and dashing away to the console. He punched in some coordinates on the monitor and adjusted the helmik regulator. Martha felt a slight tremble under her feet as the TARDIS switched out of orbit, and then a small swaying in her stomach that told her they were moving through the Vortex. After a few moments of waiting, he finally stopped the TARDIS, securing the break and regulator again. But he wasn't done – he was suddenly keen on finding something. She watched him, intrigued, as he circled around the entire thing, his hands moving this way and that, searching.

Finally he found it and plucked it from its hiding place tucked against the metal bar that supported the monitor.

It was her iPod.

He tapped it against his mouth, his eyebrows raised mischievously. He tucked his free hand in his pocket again and began to back up, past the jump seat, into the corridor that led to his room and the greater ship beyond.

She followed him as he backed down the hall, never taking her eyes off his.

Finally he stopped and leaned against a door – the same door he'd leaned against merely three nights ago, when he was fighting to suppress the horrifying change into a werewolf. He waited until she caught up, then opened the door and backed inside.

Martha followed him.

It was pitch black inside of course, but she heard him moving around near her. Then she heard the flicking of several switches to her right, and a rumbling as the observatory enclosure began to open. As it did, pale bluish light began to filter into the huge room. It wasn't harsh, but rather beautiful. Martha looked up in wonder as the glass dome was revealed and through it she could see a massive cluster of stars…millions and millions of stars…all tangled together in a never-ending swirl. At the center of the star cluster was a pale orange celestial sphere – it sparkled and blinked as though there was a lightning storm trapped inside of it.

"It's beautiful! Where are we?"

"Mutter's Spiral!" he called distractedly. "Or – what you humans commonly refer to as the Milky Way."

Martha turned to find The Doctor at the far side of the room, sonicking her iPod.

She watched him, her words cut short at the sight of him – head bent, glasses on, sonic whirring, tongue dipped over his bottom lip. She suppressed a giggle. Blimey, he was adorable.

When he was done, he turned, fiddled with some panel on the wall for a moment, and a second later music filled the room.

It was Howlin' Wolf's _"Smokestack Lightning"._ He must've downloaded it with the sonic.

He tucked his screwdriver and glasses into his jacket and stuck his hands in his pockets, strolling towards her now.

She watched him come, feeling her heart flutter.

"What's all this, mister?"

He shrugged, his eyes glinting intensely under the starlight. His expression was smoldering; his smile barely touching the corners of his mouth. "Oh, I just thought…since I promised you music and dancing…"

Martha's heart fluttered again as he stepped close to her and took her hand.

"Dance with me, Martha Jones?"

She couldn't speak. He frowned.

"I know it's not the real thing. If you want, I could take you back to the juke-?"

She stood up on her tiptoes and kissed him. Then she stepped back and took his hand. They danced. Close.

He moved well, and she wasn't terribly surprised. He was capable of a lot of things. Many, many things…including, it seemed, loving her.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Several songs in, when they could not seem to keep their hands from roaming…when she could feel him hard against her hip…when Martha felt heat pulsing in places that made her remember how she felt in that sweltering, dark juke joint the night he first made love to her…The Doctor gripped her waist, her back to him, like his life depended on it, his face buried in her neck, and growled:

"Oh, _sod_ it!"

He pulled her to the floor and reached under her dress to pull down her knickers, his breath hot in her hair. When she felt his finger slide into her moist center she whimpered loudly and gripped the back of his neck, shuddering. He moaned in her ear, easing another finger in, muttering "oh…_god_…so wet…"

He swirled his finger inside her and pumped his hand and Martha squeezed her eyes shut, thrusting her hips against it – against him – rubbing her ass into his crotch. He shuddered and groaned and she felt white hot ecstasy rising within her as he released her waist with his other hand to squeeze her breast through the fabric of her dress.

Martha grinded against him, and he thrust his fingers inside her – and pumped and swirled over and over again until she couldn't think, couldn't see, couldn't speak…she came hard, crying out, bucking against him like a wild thing.

He allowed her a moment to catch her breath. Then he turned her around and pulled her underwear all the way off, tossing them aside carelessly.

The galaxy burned above their heads as Martha helped him undress, snatching off his tie, ripping open his shirt, tugging off his jacket. He did the same to her dress, popping off a few buttons. In short order, clothes were everywhere and finally he freed himself. He was so hard that when she touched him he sucked in a breath, nearly buckling over.

The Doctor grabbed her thighs, causing her to lie back, and opened her legs. Gritting his teeth, he impaled her with one hard thrust and she yelled and clawed at him as she felt him fill her to the hilt. He began to move, now gripping her hips, throwing his head back.

She arched her back, thrusting against him as he drove himself in and out of her. He slowed down, pulling almost all the way out, then sliding himself back inside…slowly…agonizingly slowly…and faster…and faster, and faster still..

And Martha sat up and straddled him. He cupped her round bottom in both hands and pushed her up and down, stoking her at her core each time. And she clenched herself around him from the inside so that he cried out and buried his face against her breasts.

Their bodies grew slick with perspiration as he drove into her over and over again until she screamed – coming even harder this time. A moment later he followed her, emptying himself inside her so forcefully that tears sprung to her eyes.

He cradled her in his arms, hot and tired now, and kissed her face all over. She ran her fingers through his spiky hair and down his back. "I love you…" she breathed.

He looked into her eyes. "What's not to love?"

She was so sated and happy that she laughed. He flashed her a grin and she laughed some more. And then he grew hard again. Her laughter quickly died as his eyes grew dark and round with desire. He kissed her slowly, circling his tongue with hers, and lay her on her back.

And they were lost again, under the Milky Way.

«∑Ω§» «∑Ω§» «∑Ω§»

Under the dome, as she lay in his arms, The Doctor was suddenly seized with an acute _need_ to tell her the truth.

To give her a part of himself.

"I lied to you…" he said very softly. She didn't speak. She was waiting for him to go on, then. "At Sweet Mama's funeral."

He took a deep breath, and exhaled slowly.

"I lied about what I'd said to her before she died. I didn't tell her those things – though I should have." He paused, gazing up at the cluster of millions upon millions of stars. He got lost in them, and they all seemed to represent every single part of his life just then. His faults, his triumphs, his lust, his anger, his vengeance, his insecurity, his friends, his family, his home, his species, the war, his enemies, his children, his mistakes, his lies…Rose.

They represented the monumental burden revealing himself would have on any one person. Seeing inside The Doctor was like gazing upon Mutter's Spiral and trying to count all those stars one by one. It was an impossible undertaking. At least, that is how it felt. That is how long it had been since he let anyone inside. Sweet Mama must've realized that when she shared his mind. Rose must've realized that, too. Martha definitely realized that, perhaps more than others. He'd made sure of it. At times harshly so.

"The thing is…I've never wanted to show anyone before." He spoke, continuing that train of thought as if she could read his mind. "So I hide it away. Under lock and key and layers upon layers of rubbish. Calculations and useless trivia and the names of every galaxy in existence and dodging here and dodging there. But…I _want_ to show it to you. All of it. All of me. One day."

She sighed softly.

"I told Sweet Mama my name. My…real name. The one no one has spoken for so long I'd forgotten what it sounded like. She was dying, and she helped me in more ways than you know. So I told her."

He scoffed.

"In typical cowardly fashion – waiting until she was passing away. But I told her. And…I don't know if I can tell you right now…but I _want_ to. For the first time. I hadn't even thought about it with…Rose. But, with you, Martha – I really, _really_ want to. One day. If you can…be patient with me – and I know that's asking a lot, but – Martha…?"

The Doctor realized that there was a reason she hadn't said anything this whole time. He arched his head to look down at her face. She was sound asleep. She hadn't heard a word he'd said. He smiled.

He would tell her in the morning.

And then he would take her to Caprica and finally get his coat dry-cleaned.

He held her closely for a while longer, and then carefully slid from under her. He propped her head under her dress and slid his jacket over her petit body. Though the TARDIS regulated the temperature so that everyone was comfortable, he didn't want her to catch a chill.

The Doctor slid on his trousers and put his shirt back on, buttoning it up. He padded barefoot out into the corridor and walked until he was in the console room again. He strode up to the monitor and swung it round to face him.

Putting on his glasses, he did a quick search until he found what he was looking for. His hands danced across the control panel keyboard and a minute later the com link was running.

A pale, nearly featureless face appeared. Featureless meaning nothing was present on this face except the eyes, which were sealed behind a translucent film. No mouth. No nose. Not even a cute dimple or a beauty mark. Thin rows of slits on the neck with shriveled sacs (when not full) operated as lungs so the creature could breath. The sacs inflated and deflated rhythmically.

The true form of the Haemovariform. Only those sacred bloodlines in the Senate still held their original form. The rest of the species had evolved and re-evolved over the centuries.

It greeted him in Krumann. The voice manifested in his head – with no mouths, their means of communication was telepathic, always.

"I'm The Doctor," he said aloud with authority. "Patch me into your Senate Council chamber. I need to have a word with them. Now."

"_What manner of message do you have for the esteemed Senate Council, Doctor?'_ asked the Haemovariform coldly in Krumann, sounding as if it knew all to well what he wanted, and had been waiting.

"Specifically?" The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "The crimes of attempted genocide and enslavement of the child planet Earth, among other things. And _do_ let them know – I'm in no mood for excuses."

«∑Ω§» «**TO BE CONTINUED**» «∑Ω§»


End file.
